
T.-6.DENiS0N 6c COMPANY CHICACO 



DENISON'S ACTING PLAYS 

Partial List of Successful and Popular Plays. Laree Catalogue Freo. 
Price ISc each. Postpaid, Unless Different Price Is Given 



DRAMAS, COMEDIES, , 
ENTERTAINMENTS, Etc. 

M. F. 

Aaron Boggs, Freshman, 3 

acts, ZYi hrs (2Sc) 8 8 

After the- Game, 2 acts, \% 

hrs (25c) 1 9 

All a Mistake, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 

(25c) 4 4 

American Hustler, 4 acts, 2J4 

hrs (25c) 7 4 

Arabian Nights, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 4 5 
As a Woman Thinketh, 3 acts, 

2V2 hrs (25c) 9 7 

At the End of the Rainbow, 3 

acts, 2J4 hrs (25c) 6 14 

Bank Cashier, 4 acts, 2 hrs. 

(25c) 8 4 

Black Heifer, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 

(25c) 9 3 

Brookdale Farm, 4 acts, 2^ 

- hrs (25c) 7 3 

Brother Josiah, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 

(25c) 7 4 

Burns Rebellion, 1 hr (25c) 8 5 

Busy Liar, 3 acts, 2J4 hrs. 

(25c) 7 4 

College Town, 3 acts, 254 

hrs (25c) 9 8 

Corner Drug Store, 1 hr. 

(2Sc) 17 14 

Danger Signal, 2 acts, 2 hrs. . 7 4 
Daughter of the Desert, 4 

acts, ZYa, hrs (25c) 6 4 

Down in Dixie, 4 acts, IV2 

hrs (25c) 8 4 

Dream That Came True, 3 

acts, 2^ hrs (25c) 6 13 

Editor-in-Chief, 1 hr....(25c) 10 
Enchanted Wood, IJ^ h.(35c).Optnl. 
Everyyouth, 3 acts, IJ^ hrs. 

(25c) 7 6 

Face at the Window, 3 acts, 2 

hrs (25c) 4 4 

Fascinators, 40 min (25c) 1 3 

Fun on the Podunk Limited, 

IVz hrs (25c) 9 14 

Heiress of Hoetown, 3 acts, 2 

hrs. (25c) 8 4 

High School Freshman, 3 acts, 

2 hrs (25c) 12 

Honor of a Cowboy, 4 acts, 2^ 

hrs (25c) 13 4 

Indian Dayfe, 1 hr (50c) 5 2 

In Plum Valley, 4 acts, 2^ 

hrs (25c) 6 4 

Iron Hand, 4 acts, 2 hrs. , (25c) 5 4 
Tayville Junction, Xy^ hrs. (25c) 14 17 
Kingdom of Heart's Content, 3 

acts. \2V^ hrs (25c) 6 12 

Lexington, 4 acts, 2J4 h..(25c) 9 4 



M. F. 

Light Brigade, 40 min.... (25c) 10 
Little Buckshot, 3 acts, 2J4 hrs. 

(25c) 7 4 

Lodge of Kye Tyes, 1 hr.(25c)13 , 
Lonelyville Social Club, 3 acts, 

\y-z hrs (25c) 10 

Man from Borneo, 3 acts, 2 , 

hrs (2Sc) 5 2 

Man from Nevada, 4 acts, 2'^ 

hrs (25c) 9 5 

Mirarfdy's Minstrels. ... (25c) Optnl. 

New Woman, 3 acts,! hr 3 6 

Old Maid's Club, 1J4 hrs. (25c) 2 16 
Old Oaken Bucket, 4 acts. 2 

hrs (25c) 8 6 

Old School at Hick'ry Holler, 

Wa. hrs (25c) 12 9 

On the Little Big Horn, 4 acts, 

ZVz hrs (25c) 10 4 

Out in the Streets, 3 acts, 1 hr. 6 4 
Prairie Rose, 4 acts, 2j4 hrs. 

(25c) 7 4 

Rustic Romeo, 2 acts, 2J4 

hrs (25c) 10 12 

School Ma'am, 4 acts, 1^ hrs. 6 5 
Scrap of Paper, 3 acts, 2 hrs.. 6 6 
Soldier of Fortune, 5 acts, 2^^ h. 8 3 
Southern Cinderella, 3 acts, 2 

hrs (25c) 7 

Third Degree, 40 min (25c) 12 

Those Dreadful Twins, 3 acts, 

2 hrs (25c) 6 4" 

Tony, The Convict, 5 acts, 2^ 

hrs (25c) 7 4 

Topp's Twins, 4 acts, 2 h.(25c) 6 4 
Town Marshal, 4 acts, 2^ 

hrs (25c) 6 3 

Trip to Storyland, \V^ hrs. (25c) 17 23 
Uncle Josh, 4 acts, 2% hrs. (25c) 8 3 
Under Blue Skies, 4 acts, 2 

hrs (25c) 7 10 

Under the Laurels, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 6 4 
When the Circus Came to 

Town, 3 acts, 2J4 hrs. (25c) 5 3 
Women Who Did, 1 hr...(25c) 17 
Yankee Detective, 3 acts, 2 hrs, 8 3 

FARCES, COMEDIETAS. Etc. 

April Fools, 30 min 3 

Assessor, The, 10 min 3 2 

Baby Show at Pineville, 20 min. 19 

Bad Job, 30 min 3 2 

Betsy Baker, 45 min 2 2 

Billy's Chorus Girl, 25 min... 2 3 

Billy's Mishap, 20 min 2 3 

Borrowed Luncheon, 20 min.. 5 

Borrowing Trouble, 20 min.... 3 5 

Box and Cox, 35 min 2 I 

Case Against Casey, 40 min... 23 

Convention of Papas, 25 min.. 7 

Country Justice, 15 min 8 

Cow that Kicked Chicago, 20 m. 3 2 



T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers,1S4W. Randolph St 



The Thread of Destiny 



A COMKDY-DRAMA 
IN THREE ACTS 



LINDSEV HARBEE 

AUTHOR OV 

Iftcr the Came," "■.-it the End of the Rainbow," "The Dream That 
Came True/' "The Tiftcenth of January" "The Kingdom of 
Heart's Content." "A Trial of Hearts," "In the College 
Days, a Grou{> of Monologues," lite. 



TO MV KENTICKY GRANDMOTHER WHO WAS 
IN HER VOUTH "THE TOAST OF THE COLNTY." 




CHICAGO 

T. S. DENISOX & COMPANY 

Publishers 



? 






THE THREAD OF DESTINY 



CHARACTERS. ' 

(Named in order of their appearance.) 

Fanny A Slave on the Montgomery Plantation 

George Washington Johnson 

A Slave on the Montgomery Plantation 

Betty Montgomery The ''Little Coloner 

Edith Sherman The Northern Cousin 

Mrs. Montgomery A True Virginian 

Colonel Montgomery...^ Gentleman of the Old School 
Virginia Montgomery. ...... .The Toast of the County 

Beverly Montgomery A Confederate Scout 

Sally Ann | j-,^^ ^^.^y:„_^ 7^^,.„^ 

Laura Lee. j ■' 

Tom Randolph A Southern Gallant 

Martha ) 

Susan . . ?• Southern Girls 

Jane. . . ) 

John Merivale Morton ' Of the North 

Marcella I Southern Girls 

Marion. . J 

Mammy Dinah A Faith fid Servitor 

Peyton Bailey Of the United States Army 

Uncle Billy The Colonel's Body-servant 

Louise Lawton In Federal Employ 

Ralph Francis Who did not go to War 

Madge Young . . . ., A Thoroughbred 

A Union Scout.-.- . '. Who is Detained 

Miss Melissy . . . ..." : Of an Inquisitive Nature 



COPYRXGHT, 1914, BY EBEN H. NORRIS. 



§)CLD 36889 



^^ f . 



1 



THE TllkliAD Ul- DESTLW 



ScLM.- / 'injniia. 



Time— rite Ci:il War 



Time uf Tlavinc; — About 7\co Hours and 'fhirtx Minutes 



Act I — Garden of Asluirst, tlic Montgomery home, near 
Richmond, April, ISol. 

Act II — Hall at Ashurst, May, 1864. 

Act III — Grounds of Ashurst, six weeks later. 



First produced by the Gamma Phi Beta Sorority of Den- 
ver University, on April 4, 1913, at the Woman's Club 
Building. 



4 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

SYNOPSIS FOR PROGRAM. 

Act I — Fanny and George Washington have a preHmi- 
nary skirmish. Betty breaks a looking glass. Edith calms 
her fears and tells her "the signs of the times." Mrs. 
Montgomery weaves together "the threads of happiness 
and sorrow." Betty longs for a lover. "Virginia has se- 
ceded.'* Beverly enlists. The Fairfax twins bewilder Tom. 
Tom is presented with useful and appropriate articles. 
Edith declares her colors. John Merivale Morton finds 
Sally Ann worthy to wear his frat pin. Mammy Dinah 
tells Tom's fortune. Peyton breaks the news to Virginia. 
"A Virginia woman does not even recognize an acquaint- 
ance among the enemies of Virginia." 

Act II — Uncle Billy voices General Sherman's opinion 
of war. "My friend, Billy, my friend." Betty receives or- 
ders. Louise pays a friendly call and has an eye to details. 
"I don' wan' no tarnished silber linin' to my cloud." Ralph 
Francis ofifers his help — and claims a reward. "To a Vir- 
ginia woman there are some things more precious than 
money, than jewels." Madge proves a thoroughbred and 
iftcidentally gives Virginia a bit of news. "Does your father 
know that Grant is marching toward Richmond?" Mrs. 
Montgomery and the Colonel watch the sunset together. 
"Death cannot conquer love — nor eternity." Laura Lee 
wishes for a man — and John Merivale Morton appears. She 
is mistaken for Sally Ann, and complications arise. Sally 
Ann proves equal to the emergency and renews acquaint- 
ance with John Merivale Morton. "Some day there will be 
no North, no South, but the Union." Beverly arrives unex- 
pectedly and asks Edith to help him, even at the sacrifice 
of her own principles. The Union scout falls a prey to her 
fascinations and her cleverness wins the coveted dis- 
patch. Virginia opens the door — to Peyton. Mrs. Mont- 
gomery gives permission to search the house. Beverly is 
discovered. Friendship proves stronger than duty. Vir- 
ginia brings Peyton his reward. Ralph Francis proves an 
unwelcome intruder and holds Virginia in his power. 
"Marse John, he done got de furlough." 

APR 30 1914 



THE TllRl'.Ai) Ol" DKSTIW. 5 

Act tit — Three years work a p^reat clianp^e in Tom. He 
and Betty drink to "the pipinj^ times of peace." Mammy 
Dinah and Mi^s MeH.^sy liave a hvely conversational bout 
anil Miss Melissy fails to extract nuich informatif)n. Louise 
and Ralph Francis come to an understanding^. John Mcri- 
vale Morton anil Sally Ann argue for the last time and 
L'ncle r>illy shouts "Ilallerluyer !" George Washington 
contemi)lates matrimony. Peyton pleads in vain with Vir- 
ginia for an exi)lanation of Ralph Frimcis' power over her. 
Madge promises help. I'amiy also contemplates matrimony. 
"The North gladly and humhly surrenders to the South." 
(jeorge Washington and Fanny "take de road to de Ian' o* 
happiness." Beverly interrupts Ralph Francis' interview 
with Louise. Madge throws light on certain transactions. 
"In our little circle the stars and bars are floating high." 
\ irginia gives Fey ton another rose and together they trace 
against the background of blue and gray "the golden thread 
of destiny." 

STORY OF TIIF PLAY. 

\'irginia Montgomery, a beautiful southern girl, has an- 
nounced her engagement to Peyton P>ailey, owner of the 
adjoining plantation and her lifelong friend. To celebrate 
the event, a merrymaking is in progress at Ashurst, the 
Montgomery home, and on the same afternoon Colonel 
Montgomery brings the news of \'irginia's secession, while 
Beverly announces that he has enlisted. Later on, Peyton 
tells Virginia that he, too, is planning to go to war, but that 
he will join the ranks of the I'nion army. Unable to under- 
stand his viewpoint, grieved to the heart over the seeming 
desertion of his own people, loyal in every fiber of her 
being to her state and to her section of the country, she de- 
clares that he must choose between her and his mistaken 
duty. Equally firm in his conception of right, Peyton 
declares that he must obey the dictates of his conscience, 
and so \'irginia sends him away. 

The war brings many changes into the lives of the Mont- 
gomerys. The Colonel is engaged in active service. Beverly 



6 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

is off on dangerous scout duty, the plantation goes to waste 
and only a few faithful negroes remain with the women. 
Ralph Francis, a wealthy resident of the place, who has 
refused t6 go to war and who is consequently held in much 
scorn by the loyal Virginians about him, offers help to the 
family in their time of need, and upon Virginia's courteous 
refusal to accept his assistance, he forgets himself and 
declares his love for her. He is indignantly repulsed and 
predicts that some day privation and want will drive her 
to him. Madge, a neighbor, learns of his threat to Vir- 
ginia and tells of her own grievance, namely, the loss of 
the family homestead through the trickery of this man. 
She vows to bring him to justice if it be in her power. 

Dark days follow for the Montgomerys. The Colonel, 
on a brief visit to his family, is called to Richmond and 
is subsequently killed. Beverly, pursued and watched by 
the Union men, succeeds in reaching home, in a state of 
physical collapse. He begs Edith, the northern cousin, who 
makes her home with the Montgomerys and with whom he 
is in love, to obtain important dispatches from a Union 
scout who is on his way to headquarters. Edith promises 
and obtains the desired papers. Close upon the departure 
of the scout comes Peyton who, at the head of a detach- 
ment, has been ordered to search the house for a Confed- 
erate officer, reported to be in hiding there. Beverly is 
discovered, but Peyton, moved by the ties of friendship, 
ignores his military duty and allows him to escape. Vir- 
ginia's pride is gone; she realizes that her love for Peyton 
is too vital a thing to be overcome,and she forgets the past 
in the joy of reunion. Ralph Francis overhears their con- 
versation, learns that Peyton has aided Beverly to escape, 
and when he finds Virginia alone he threatens to reveal the 
breach of military discipline which would result in Pey- 
ton's disgrace and death, unless she promises to marry him. 
In desperation she consents, and naturally is unable to offer 
a satisfactory explanation of her conduct to Peyton or to 
her family. In the meantime Louise Lawton, supposedly a 
visitor in the neighborhood but in reality a spy in the em- 
ploy of the Federal government, who has been instru- 



TIIK TIIKKAD OF DKSTIXV. 7 

mental in shadowing the Montp^omcry liomc, approaches 
Ralph Francis with the proposition that he sell to the gov- 
cnnncnt liis knowledj^c of the resources and conchtion of 
the Confederate army in X'irj^inia and of tlie defences of 
I'etershurg. He consents, and Madge, ever on tlie alert, 
suspects from the frequent meetings of the two that mis- 
chief is afoot. From an examination of Francis' papers she 
discovers his treachery and, in the presence of Beverly, 
Virgina and Louise, confronts him with the accusation, 
Louise and Ralph are forced to withdraw, the difficulties 
are settled and "the thread of destiny" brings V^irginia 
back to Peyton. 

As another struggle of North against South, comes John 
Merivale Morton's stormy courtship of Sally Ann Fairfax. 
Meeting her for the tirst time, when on his way to w^ar — 
a runaway college lad — he leaves his. heart in Dixie; and 
when fate brings him back to Virginia he captures the heart 
of the fiery little rebel, after a long and persistent siege. 
The love affairs of Beverly and Edith, the faithful atten- 
tions of George Washington to the ever belligerent Fanny, 
the flirtations of Tom, and the devotion of Uncle Billy 
and Aunt Dinah in their service to the Montgomery family, 
are incidents that lead to a happy ending of the story. 



CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES. 

Virginia — Aristocratic in bearing, charming in manner 
and personality, strong in her opinions, sincere in her con- 
ception of right, proud in her birth and breeding, loyal to 
those she loves. In the scene with Peyton she is strong in 
her denouncement. In the second act her pride is at first 
predominant, but when she realizes Peyton's generosity 
and her love for him, she yields unhesitatingly. In the first 
act she wears an elaborate white gown ; in the second, a 
simpler one; in the third, a simple while gown with a black 
lace fishu. 

[All the gowns are made in the style of 1B61 — full skirts, 
many ruffles, low-necked, etc. White stockings are worn and 



8 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

black slippers with ankle straps. The hair is worn in the 
style of that time — in a single* curl over the shoulder or 
clusters of short curls.] 

Mrs. Montgomery — Typically southern in every way ; 
gracious, sweet, simple and tender in her scenes with the 
Colonel ; calm and resigned in misfortune. In the first act 
she wears a white gown and a black lace scarf ; in the 
second and third acts, her simple gown is black with white 
fichu, and her hair is touched with gray. 

Edith — Reserved, thoughtful and serious throughout, 
though tender in her scenes with her aunt and uncle ; she 
is firm with Beverly and yet very yielding and gentle at 
the last. In the second act she changes her character, be- 
comes coquettish with the scout, cleverly wins his interest 
and then effectively holds him at bay. She wears dainty 
light gowns throughout the play. 

Betty — Placid and childish in first act ; afterward seri- 
ous and oppressed with care and responsibility, though in 
the third act she comes back to a trace of her former gaiety. 
In the first act she wears a short girlish gown with ruffies 
to the waist, white stockings and old-fashioned black slip- 
pers, while her hair is arranged in long corkscrew curls. 
In the other acts she wears simple summer gowns, made 
longer by several inches, while her hair is worn in a single 
curl. 

Sally Ann and Laura Lee — As similar as possible in 
appearance, dress, gesture and mannerisms. Independent, 
coquettish, full of life and fun, very loyal to the southern 
cause. In the first act they wear dresses of pink, each ruffle 
edged with black, and big, flower-laden hats. Sally Ann, 
on her second appearance in this act, does not wear her hat. 
In the second act they appear in fluft'y white gowns with 
black velvet girdles, and narrow black velvet ribbon tied 
about their necks and wrists ; also large black hats trimmed 
with roses which they subsequently remove. In the third 
act Sally Ann wears a simple print gown with white sun- 
bonnet. 

Martha^ Susan and Jane — Sweet and serious in the 



THE Til READ OE DESTINY. 9 

scene with Tom and very earnest in their plans for liis 
comfort. 

Makcklla AM) Marion — Gayer and more flirtatious 
than Martha, Susan and Jane. All five wear pretty HufTy 
frocks, with or without hats. 

LouiSK — Always alert, clever in (|uestioninj(s, gracious in 
manner yet cool and business-like in her transactions with 
Ralph Francis. Wears plain summer ^own with large hat 
lied under the chin, in the lirst act; dark gown and hat in 
the second. 

Madck — Energetic in her efforts to right wrong, proud 
in misfortune, far-sighted in her deductions, loyal to her 
South. She wears a light gown in each act, with hat. 

Miss Melissv — Prim and old maidish, affected, inquisi- 
tive, showing a vindictive spirit in her remarks concerning 
the Montgomery family. Wears a full skirt with hoops, 
black silk mantle, small hat and carries small parasol. 

Mammy Dinah — Whole-souled, always displaying her 
loyalty to the family she serves and her devotion to their 
cause ; jolly and a bit bantering in her scenes with Tom 
and the girls ; serious in her conversation with Uncle Billy ; 
always cheerful in the midst of misfortune. In her conver- 
sation with Miss Melissy she is at first merely independent, 
then on the defensive and finally uncontrolled in her wrath. 
She wears the conventional servant costume — calico dress, 
white apron and red bandannas around neck and head. 

Fanny — Pert, impressed with her own importance, talk- 
ative and quarrelsome with George W^ishington though 
secretly approving of him. Wears bright-colored calico 
dress in first act with ribbon for hair ; dark dress and 
apron in second act and same in third until she changes to 
a much beruffled gown with large, flopping hat. 

Pkyton — Unswerving in his loyalty to the cause he has 
chosen yet true to his own southern people ; tender toward 
Virginia, even when she sends him away; faithful to the 
ties of friendship ; determined and manly in all that he 
does. In the first act he wears light trousers, dark frock 



10 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

coat, high stock, with colored vest; in the other acts he 
appears in United States unifowii. 

Colonel Montgomery — Typical southern gentleman, 
loyal to his country, courtly in bearing, deferential to 
women, tender and loving to his own family. In the first 
act he wears a black suit, frock coat, stock, broad-brimmed 
hat; in second act he wears the Confederate uniform, 
slouch hat, etc. 

Beverly — Reckless, impulsive, daring, carried away by 
enthusiasm in the first act, heedless of the future. Hag- 
gard, worn out, much older-grown in second act; quiet and 
manly, showing deep feeling in his scene with Peyton. In 
the first act he wears light trousers, frock coat, high stock, 
colored vest, broad-brimmed hat. In the second act he 
appears in a shabby Confederate suit, gray shirt open at 
the neck, slouch hat, worn-out dusty shoes, arm in bloody 
sling; in the third, a Confederate uniform. 

Tom — Absolutely gay, flirtatious and light-hearted in 
first act; serious and settled in third. Wears dandyish suit 
of light trousers, frock coat, high stock, bright vest in first 
act; Confederate uniform in last act. 

John Merivale Morton — Enthusiastic college lad in 
first act — of an argumentative nature. More serious and 
earnest in the other acts, persistent in his wooing of Sally 
Ann. Wears dusty civilian suit in first act; Federal uni- 
form in second and third. 

Ralph Francis — Cold and calculating in nature, entirely 
lacking in the chivalry, finer feeling and patriotism which 
animates the other men. Dogged in the persistency of his 
suit to Virginia, boastful of his attainments, unscrupulous 
in all dealings. He wears regular civilian suit with broad- 
brimmed hat and colored vest. 

Scout — Impressed with his own importance, easily flat- 
tered, and quickly yielding to Edith's fascinations. He 
wears a Union scouting rig. 

Uncle Billy — Characterized by absolute devotion to his 
master and his master's family ; unselfish in his service to 
them; cheerful in his hope of reconciliation. He wears 



THE TllKllAl) ()!■ iJhSll.W. 11 

baj^<^y trousers, oUl frock coal aiul colored vest ; carries red 
baiulaiina. 

Georgk \\'asiiin(;t()N — Boastful of Me liailey planta- 
tion," ea^er to circumvent Fanny, yet always yielding to 
her. In the first and third act he wears a gala attire of 
checked trousers, black coat, bright tie and handkerchief, 
straw hat. In the second act he appears in dark working 
clothes. 



PROPERTIES. 

Act I — Set trees, rosebush, tree with encircling scat, two 
rustic chairs, one rustic seat, one small table. Tray with 
l)()U([ucts of flowers for Fanny. Scarf and knitting for 
Mrs. Montgomery. Slippers on each end of a ribbon for 
Martha ; basket for Susan ; package containing small clock 
for Jane. Plate of refreshments for Sally Ann. Fraternity 
pin for John. Teacup for Marcella. Rose for \^irginia's 
hair. Fiddle for Uncle Billy. 

Act II — Flower boxes for long window, one small and 
one large. Confederate flag. ( )l(l-fashioned sofa hassock 
and three chairs with crochet tidies. Round table with 
lamp, books, table cover, decanter of wine and glasses. 
Short muslin curtains for windows. (Ornaments for man- 
tels, old-fashioned pictures, rugs, etc. Hat for Colonel. 
Pin and glass of water for Betty. Basket for George 
Washington. Small United States flag and handkerchief 
for John. Work baskets containing bandages for Virginia, 
lulith and P>etty. Dispatch and revolver for the Union 
scout. Revolver for Beverly. Sword for Uncle Billy. 

Act III — Set trees, tree stumps, rustic bench, swing. Pan 
of peas for Betty. Flowers for Miss Melissy. Wheeled 
chair for John. Book for Uncle Billy. Basket containing 
cup of custard with spoon and napkin. Bomiet and hand- 
kerchief for Sally Ann. Papers and sealed package for 
Ralph Francis. Revolver for Beverly. Rose for Virginia's 
hair. 



12 



THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 



STAGE SEfTTING. 



Act I. 



_f^^^^ 



ChairO Q^a^le 



Landscape Drop 



D 

Rustic Chair 



Treel 
witli 



Shrubbery \_ 



Seat 



Rustic Seat 






Act II. 



LandscapeDj:op_^^,^^^^ , St_ep_ 

I I , Door 

Sofa 



/ Qjai^^e Chair n 
"^ ° Chair 



Window 



Hassock D 




The stairway and landing will add to the effect of this scene but 
are not necessary to the action of the play and can be eliminated. 



Act III 



Landscape Drop 



& 



T 



O 



I I Swine 



Tree Stump 



Bench 



STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

R. means right of the stage ; C, center ; R. C, right cen- 
ter; L., left; 1 E., first entrance; U . E., upper entrance; 
R. 3 E., right entrance, up-stage, etc.; R. D., right door; 
L. D., left door, etc. ; D. P., door in fiat or scene running 
across the back of the stage ; up-stage, away from foot- 
lights, down stage, near footlights ; 1 G., first groove, etc. 
The actor is supposed to be facing the audience. 




"Pcsliny has "rju^n: me back to yuu, acar . ju^. u.s ; 



• uld: 



THE THREAD OF DESTINY 



Act I. 

Scene : Garden of Montgomery home. Full stage. 
Landscape and zvood backing. Entrances at R. U. E., L. 
U . E. and L. 2 E. Tree zvith encircling seat, L. U. E. 
Rustic seat, L. 2 E. Rustic chair, C. Small table, R. 2 E. 
Chair R. of table. Shrubbery at L. U. E., R. U . E. and 
dozvn stage, R. Rose bush back of rustic seat, L. 2 E. 

At rise, stage is zvell illumined, since it is afternoon. 
Discovered, Fanny seated at table, R. 2 E., zvith tray of 
cut flozjuers, busily engaged in making buttonhole bouquets. 

Fanny. Dar now, dey's done — all fitten to gib Miss 
Jinny's young men when dey comes to wish dey good 
wishes to she and Marse Peyton, Le's see. FU gib Marse 
Peyton dis bridey one — all white and sweet widout de 
thorns, for all de world lak' Miss Jinny ; an' dis mignonette 
fuh de Colonel. E|en de' gayest an' han'somes' of all fuh 
Marse Beve'ly. De bachelor's buttons, fuh dat fool young 
Marse Tom ; an' as fuh de udder 'spirin' suitors fuh Miss 
Jinny's han', Fd lak to gib 'um bleedin' hearts! {Scorn- 
fidly.) As if Miss Jinny 'd look at any pusson what isn't 
de quality. (Rising and speaking zvith dignity.) "No, suh," 
she say to ebery one of dese harf strainers what want to 
join dey selves to de Montgomery blue blood. 
Enter George Washington^ L. 2 E. 

Fanny. "No, suh, I 'preciate de honah, Fse grieved to 
disapp'int yuh, but I does not hanker atter de holy bonds 
of matermony an' I spurn yo' lub." 

George. Fo' de Lawd, Fanny, what's ailin' yuh? Is you 
jes' ackin de fool or is de moon's rays tetched yo' min'? 

Fanny. Gwan, Gawge Washin'ton, yuh good-fuh- 
nothin' nigger. What fuh yuh hangin' roun' hyar? 

George (sadly shaking his head). It's de moon's rays, 
Fanny — de moon's rays. (Crosses to C.) 

14 



THI-: TIIRKAU Oi- DESTINY. 15 

Fannv. An' if ii is, I'sc miglity glad dal i'-sc a Diiiid lo 
be tctclicd ; iiiun .sumo udder iiiggcrs can say. 

(JKoKUE. CJl) all dc sa>sy, up.siarty niggers 1 ebl^er seen. 
When yuli git to be boss ob dis byar plantation ? 

Fannv {lunujhtily). 1 blongs to de M(jnlgoine'ys, / 
lioes. 

GiioKGi:. lluli! Ain't I Marse I'eylon's own pussonal 
body sarvant ? Uwait, you say? W'al 1 reekon not. VA it 
warn't full my side ob de bouse dar wouldn't be nu pa'ty 
today. {Struts to bench at L. 2 E.) 

F.\NNY. Vo' side ob de bouse! lis' listen to dat fool 
stracted nigger! Vo' side ob de house! Doan yuh know dat 
Miss Jinny eould-a-had any side ob dc house in dis whole 
state ob Ferginny jes by nuddin' her pretty head? {Crosses 
back of tabic C.) 

di:oRC.E. Doan yuh know dat ebery gal in dis hyar county 
plum crazy 'bout Marse Peyton? Vo' Miss Jinny, too; jis' 
lak as not she's agged him on lak all de udders. 

Fannv. Aygcd him on! Land knows he didn't need no 
aggin' on! Jes' buzzin' roun' huh all de time lak a bee after 
de honey. {Statu f>s foot.) 

Gr:uRGK. Miss Jinny is sho' a lucky gal to be marryin* 
into de Bailey fambly. Dey all high steppers. (Cotncs to 
('.. laiKjhmy and stepping very Jiiyh.) 

1-annv (an</rily). Miss Jinny a lucky gal! Stop dat laf- 
fin', Gawge W'ashin'ton, or fust thing youh. know youh'U be 
lafthi udder side ob yo' mouf. 

Georgi: {poinpoitsly). Ain't we got niggers till dey is 
thick as de berries in a blackberry patch ? 

Fa<nnv (scornfully). Niyyers! Why you doan know 
what nig-gers is! .\n' as to bosses an' carriages — lordy ! 
Dey so many dat we jis cyarnt count 'em. 

George. Fried chicken ev'y day — gol' knives an* silber 
plates. 

Fannv. .An' di'mond sjxxins I reckon ! P.ctter watch out. 
vnh l\in' black nigger, or de Lawd 'II strike you i)lnm daid 
lak dat liible man Annynias what Miss Jinny tol' us 'bout. 

George (crosses back to table). An' Marse Peyton he 
got mo'n a hundred westcoats, I reckon. 



16 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Fanny. Gawge Washin'ton, if you'se got to be struck 

by de ban' ob de Lawd, go home, an' be struck — or shet dat 

per-varicatin' mouf of yourn. Yuh is a tritiin' no-count 

nigger, yuh is. „ ^ ^.^ 
^^ ' ^ Enter Betty, L. 2 E. 

Betty. Fanny! Fanny! Are you and George Washing- 
ton quarrehng again, and on Miss Virginia's engagement 
day? Oh, I am so sorry — 

George {twning). Quarrel-in', Miss Betty, on dis sus- 
picious occasion? Lawd, no; we wuz jis' 'sputin' — dat all. 
(Fanny meets Betty at C.) 

Fanny (calling Betty to bench, L. 2 E.). Come hyar, 
Miss Betty, an' set down so I cyarnt see dat aggervatin' 
nigger. A rabbit done cross de road dis ve'y mo'nin', an' 
r'se ben speculatin' what bad luck I'd have dis day. Nozv 
I know; it's jes lookin' at Gawge Washin'ton. (They seat 
themselves.) 

George (following them). Dar yuh go again. Nem'min' 
I seen a ha'nt last night. (Betty .shakes head.) Yes I did, 
Miss Betty, down by de cross roads ; an' de Voodoo man 
he say it mean dat I run 'cross de debbil hisself. (Gazing 
at Fanny.) I'se done seen him today — only he's a her. 

Betty. Do you think it's very kind to Marse Peyton and 
Miss Jinny to say those dreadful things about each other, 
when everybody ought to be happy? 

Fanny. Nobody in dis worl' good nuf¥ fo' Miss Jinny. 
(Turns back on George.) 

George. Queen o' Sheby ain't fitten to tetch Marse Pey- 
ton wid a ten foot pole. (Turns back on Fanny.) 

Betty. I don't believe you all want Virginia and Peyton 
to marry, and I don't think it's very considerate to me. Of 
course I'll miss Virginia ; but still Fni growing up, and if 
she stays at home much longer, what chance have I to 
go to balls, to listen to serenades and to be the toast of the 
county ? 

Fanny (soothingly) . Dar now, Miss Betty. Doan you 
worry. You'll hab all de young bloods atter you jes' lak 
Miss Jinny. Ain't yuh a Montgome'y, an ain't de Mont- 
gomery blood de bluest in de state? 



Till-: riiUKAl) Ol- DESTINY. 17 

Geokge. 'Ccplin' ilc Hailcys. {lurfis.) 

Fannv {timiinij). Dar yuli arc — brcakin' out in a new 
place, Ciawj^c W'asliin'toii. Ain't yuli ^ot dc sense yuh wuz 
born vvicl ? 

Bkttv. Oh, stoj) and listen, fur I've something dreadful, 
dreadful to say — ami I nnist tell somebody. 

F.ANN V [quickly). Dat fool Mose j^'ot 'li^non agin? 

Geokc.e {caycily). (Jle Li/e been conjurin'? 

Bettv. Worse than that — worse than that. (Trag- 
ically.) I've broken a looking-glass! 

Fannv. Law, Miss Betty! (Looks nervously around.) 

George. Whar's my rabbit foot? {Fumbles in pocket.) 

Betty. This morning early, and this morning of all oth- 
ers ! To think I could spoil X'irginia's liajjpy day. 1 gath- 
ered up the pieces and took them to the Voodoo man, and — 
oh— 

Fannv. What did he say. Miss Betty? 

Bettv. I le said — just like this — as he looked at the pieces 
— "Bloodshed — separation — death." 

Fannv. Bloodshed! Dar gwine to be a duel. (Shudders.) 

George. Separation — Marse Montgome'y sell de niggers. 

Bettv (sternly). No gentleman ever sells his niggers, 
George Washington. 

Enter Edith. R. U. E., unseen by them. 

Fanny (shuddering). Death! It's chilly roun' hyar, Miss 
Bettv. De win's comin' up. (Rises and crosses to table, 
R.2E.) 

George. It's de ha'nts a brushin' past us — de ha'nts! 
1 Follows Fanny, crossing back of table to chair.) 

Betty. Oh, I can't get it out of my mind — I can't — I 
can't. Over and over again I hear him say it — *' Bloodshed 
— separation — death." (Rises and moirs to C.) 

Edith (adiancing). What dreadful words for a beauti- 
ful morning like this. Foolish child, why do you say them? 

Betty. Oh, Cousin Edith, it's a sign — a sign — for I've 
broken a looking-glass. (Sinks into chair at C.) 

Edith. Is that all? Well, all the sign that I can see is 
the necessity of a new mirror. (Stands L. of chair.) 



18 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Betty. You don't understand, Cousin Edith — you can't 
understand. Don't you have siglis up North? 

Edith. Only pleasant signs, dear. 

Betty. But to break a looking-glass — do you know what 
it means? 

Edith. Nothing, dear. Don't worry your pretty head 
about it. Look at this sunshine ; think of the friends that 
will soon come to greet you ; best of all, remember that to- 
day you're welcoming the very nicest brother-to-be that the 
county has to offer. Do you suppose that breaking a silly 
looking-glass can change all this? / don't. Come here and 
let me smooth out the worry marks. (Leads her to bench 
at L. 2 E. They seat themselves.) 

Fanny (aside to George). Miss Edith she done come 
from Boston to lib wid de folks. Ain't it curious dat she's 
kept huh manners and huh raisin' after libin' wid de Yanks ? 
I speck it kase huh ma wuz bawn in Ferginny. 

Edith (turning). Fanny, Miss Virginia will be waiting 
for her flowers. It's almost time for the guests, you know. 
I wonder if George Washington will help you carry them. 

Fanny (tossing head). If he keep he distance an' hold 
he tongue, I doan care. Follow me, Gawge Washin'ton. 
(Starts off, L.) 

Edith. Wait; you forgot the flowers. (Fanny turns, 
makes cross before her and comes back.) Why do you do 
that? 

Fanny. Law, Miss Edith, you doan reckon I'd tu'n back 
widout makin' de sign ! I ain't runnin' no risks ! Hyar, 
Gawge Washin'ton, carry de tray. (Gives him the tray.) 
An' fall behine! De Montgome'ys will come fust, followed 
by de Baileys. To de rear, Gawge Washin'ton — to de rear. 
(Exit Fanny, L. 2 E., followed by George.) 

Edith (laughing). Aren't they funny? They all seem 
happy, these slaves of yours. 

Betty (zvonderingly) . Slaves? We never think of them 
as slaves. They're just our people and we love them dearly. 
(A pause.) Cousin Edith, it's a long, long way between the 
North and South, isn't it? And we don't quite understand 
each other. 



THE THREAD OF DESTIXY. 19 

KniTn (seriously). A lonj^. lonp^ way. Pcrliaps that is 
why you don't realize tlic jjrealness of our N'orlli ; why wc 
Northerners fail to see you in your native atmosphere of 
sunshine, friendliness and hrotherly love. And as you say, 
dear, we don't understand each other, and we must be taught 
in a hard and hitter way. 

Hktty ( />/(ir/(//v ). 1 don't know of anythinj:^ you all 
could teach n<. hut we'd he i^lad to help you ont in any 
way wc could. 

FniTH. \"ou asked nie about sij^ns, Hetty, and I told you 
I |)laced no faith in them. Hut there arc sij^ns in which 1 
must believe, whether I will or not. The sij^^ns of the times, 
Betty — the signs of the times. 

Bkttv. The signs of the times! You mean — 

Edith. That the sky is overcast with the cloud of dis- 
aster ; that the sun of peace and serenity is hidden : that 
the far-olT thunder is not that of the elements, but the 
rattle of musketry. 

Hr.TTV. Why, Cousin Edith. I don't understand. You 
frighten me, and — 

Edith (laiighitK/). Nonsense, dear. See, I'm laughing. 
(Turns.) Look, here comes your mother. Til race you to 
her. 

Enter Mrs. Montgomery. R. U. E. They rush to her. 

Edith. Hands up, wayfarer! (As they seize her she 
drops knitting ball and searf.) 

Mrs. M. Such a pair of brigands! There goes my knit- 
ting; there goes my scarf, and, alas, there goes my dignity. 
What a loss for an old lady! (They bring her to chair at 
C. where she seats herself.) 

Edith (picking up the scarf). Old lady! Listen to that, 
Betty. Yesterday, Aunt Charlotte, when you and Virginia 
were standing together I heard someone ask which was 
mother' and which daughter. (Edith sits on right ar)n of 
chair. Hktty on left. ) 

Mrs. ^L The tongue of flattery. Edith. Hase flattery. 

Edith (laughing). Then such a gift must have been ac- 
quired from the Southern side of my house. 



20 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. M. And the Southern side of your house has been 
missing you all these years, honey. It's mighty nice to 
claim you now — forever. 

Edith. And to take the homeless girl to your heart is a 
very beautiful thing to do. {Puts left arm around Mrs. 
M.'s shoulder.) 

Mrs. M. I'm thinking that providence sent you my way, 
Edith, to take Virginia's place. Now that she is going, 
my courage fails me a little, and — I'll need you and Betty 
all the more. {Begins to knit.) 

Edith {glancing at Betty). We'll do our best, won't we, 
Betty? (Betty nods.) 

Mrs. M. Then begin your career of usefulness by find- 
ing my ball for me. (Betty picks up hall and hands it to 
her mother, then stands back of chair.) When I'm par- 
ticularly troubled, Edith, or particularly happy, or when 
my emotions get the better of me, I begin to knit. While 
I was waiting for the Colonel to propose I did yards and 
yards ; when Beverly's baby curls were cut it was the only 
thing that kept back the tears ; and when Virginia put on 
long dresses — well — 

Edith {thoughtfully). So you weave together the 
threads of happiness and of sorrow. I never thought of 
that before. Then the pretty things that your hands have 
fashioned are not lifeless and meaningless — they are biog- 
raphies of love, faith, smiles, tears and romance. 

Mrs. M. Oh, Edith, each of us is knitting her own pat- 
tern of life, and as the needles of Fate click steadily on she 
weaves stitch by stitch the dreams, the aspirations and the 
tender thoughts that are too deep for utterance. {Pause.) 

Betty. That's all very well, mother, but why should you 
choose this particular time when the party is about to start ? 
{Crosses to bench, L. 2 E.) 

Mrs. M. Honey, didn't you hear me say that my knit- 
ting is a vent for my emotions? And don't you think my 
emotions have a right to be stirred over losing Virginia? 
Why, I'll feel just the same about you when the time comes 
to give you up. 

Betty {mournfully) . It doesn't look as if you'd have a 



THE THREAD 01" DESTINY. 21 

chance; and if \'ir^inia should chanjjc her mind, I don i 
know uiicre I would l)C. ( )li, I wish 1 had a luvei ! 
{Fetches Jeji'ctcdly on arm of bench.) 

Enrrii {Uini/hin<f). Funny httlc j^irl, dou'l you know 
there's a time for lovers, just as tliere is a time for r.ieaslcs 
and mumi^s, and that yuu can't manaj^c the one half so 
well as the doctor can check the other? 

Bkttv. How cati I tell when 1 haven't had a chance to 
try? Anyway, / am j::oin^ to the party. (Rises.) Goodhy, 
you pretty moilier. (Kisses her,) Knit away all you watit 
to — just like those old women of the French Revolution. 
Watch all the heads of \'ir<:[inia's lovers as they fall into 
the hasket of rejection — and hope, just as hard as you 
can — that one of them will roll mv wav. (Riois out R. 

u: E.) 

Enter Colonel Montgomery. L. U. E. Crosses to C. 
and gazes appreciatively about him. 

Colonel. There is nothing in God's world so heautiful 
as a \'irginia day, unless (turning to his wife), my dear, 
it's a \'irginia woman! 

Edith (slyly). Be careful. Uncle, I'm here. 

Colonel {boning). Ov a woman that has Vire^inia 
blood in h.er veins. (Picks rose and places it in her hair.) 
My dear, I place this rose in your hair, and in my eyes 
the wearer shames the flower. (To his ivife.) Mrs. Mont- 
gomery, I kiss your hand. (Kisses her hand.) 

Edith. Uncle John. Fve always doubted the statement 
that you \'irginians spoke in poetry, but you've just proved 
it true. 

Colonel. Poetry, my dear? Hardly. The only poetry 
that suggests itself today is that of blank verse. And 
(bowing) excepting for your presence, ladies, and asking 
your pardon, I could make use of every blank. {Angrily.) 
I've been grossly insulted, my dear Charlotte, grossly in- 
sulted. 

Mrs. M. John! (Lays do7iii knitting.) 

Colonel. And by an u[)start of a ^'ankce slave dealer! 
A slave dealer. (Scornfully.) A money-making Yankee 



22 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

who chose to ignore the fact that I am a gentleman, that 
my father was a gentleman, and •his father before him. 

Edith. But, Uncle, what did he say? 

Colonel. Wanted to buy a nigger of me, my dear — 
wanted to buy a nigger! (Bends over wife.) Charlotte, he 
asked me to sell Billy! 

Mrs. M. Billy, Billy! Why, John, I wonder that you 
didn't strike him to the earth. 

Colonel. The Lord stayed my hand, Charlotte. Billy. 
Why, I'd just as soon think of selling my own flesh and 
blood. As boys we fished together, went swimming to- 
gether, took whippings for each other. Sell Billy! Does 
the man think that he's just so many pounds of human 
flesh and blood, to be bartered for coin? Why, Billy is no 
slave — he's my chum, my comrade, he's my friend. 

Edith {rising). I can't understand — I can't understand. 
You love these people, you care for them; yet you with- 
hold their one rightful possession — freedom. {Crosses to 
bench at L. 2 E. and stands hack of it.) 

Colonel (turning to her). The very fact that you can't 
understand, honey, is the reason that there is a North and 
South. Maybe we're wrong ; maybe we must be taught the 
right, but whatever the solution of the problem, it is near 
at hand. 

Edith (starting). You mean — 

Colonel. That the blow has descended ; for the fall of 
Fort Sumter and the President's call for troops has been 
speedily followed by the inevitable. Charlotte, Virginia has 
seceded. (Lays hand on zvife's shoulder.) 

Edith (excitedly). Oh, how could she — how could she! 
Uncle, don't you see, can't you realize that it means war? 

Colonel (raising hand). Hush, Edith! Virginia has 
never faltered nor failed when called upon to contribute 
her manhood and her substance for the national defence. 
Bound by every obligation of law, of tradition, of honor, 
she has entered into the ranks of the secessionists. 

Edith. Secession! How terrible a thing it is! Can't the 
states see that they are precipitating a sectional war? 

Colonel. Every state has a constitutional right to with- 



THE TlIRliAD Ol- DESTINY. 23 

draw from the Union — \vc X'ir^inians must grant tliat. 
But the moment we are called upon for troops, by which 
the Federal government may force the seceding states into 
submission, we can no longer stand aloof. We must cast 
our strength into the scale of disunion and war. 

Mrs. M. And do you think that all this will terminate 
in — war? 

CoLONKL. 1 fear it will. 

Mrs. M. John, it's a long road that we've traveled to- 
gether, and we've shared the sunshine and the shadow. 
I'm strong enough to bear whatever must be borne. John, 
will you go? (Puts out licr hand.) 

Colon RL (softly). I'll go, Charlotte. Virginia has al- 
ways claimed my love an(l my allegiance. She has every 
right to expect my help in her time of need. (He takes 
her Jiand iu both of his.) 

Mrs. M. I give you gladly, and I am proud to have you 
go. (Edith quietly zvithdraws, L. 2 E.) 

Colonel. Dear Charlotte, life has given us of its beauti- 
ful things. And now, if sorrow touches us, if separation — 
even if the parting must come — the sadness will not be so 
great if one must go on — alone. 

Mrs. M. (softly). For death is not goodbye, but only 
auf zciedersehen. 

Enter Virginia. 7?. U. E. Comes doii'u C. 

Virginia. Oh, here you are, you sentimental things; 
and everybody wondering why you don't appear. You 
should hear the pretty compliments that are being show- 
ered upon Peyton and me. (Stops suddeiily.) Why, what's 
the matter? 

Colonel. Just a i)rol)lem of state, dear child, that evi- 
dently hasn't reached your ears. (Mo7'es to beneh at L. 2 
/:., then turns and faces them.) Virginia has joined the 
Confederacy. 

Virginia (at back of chair. C). Oh, but that's good 
news. That's what Virginia ought to do, isn't it? And 
what difference does it make, anyway? (Suddenly.) Oh, 
father, you don't mean, you can't mean there'll l)e war — 



24 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Colonel. Little girl, that is for wiser heads than ours 
to decree; and if there is war,. it does not follow that it 
will be a long one. It need not touch your life in any way. 
Don't let the thought of it sully your betrothal day. 

Virginia. It would mean Peyton — Beverly — and you, 
father! {Crosses to Colonel.) Oh, I've always thought 
of war as something far away. A woman is so pitiably 
weak in the face of such a thing. (Colonel puts Jiis arm 
about her.) 

Mrs. M. Ah, Virginia, she learns to be so pitifully strong 
when she realizes that the part is — to wait! 

Enter Beverly^ R. U. E., comes dozvn stage to right of 
Mrs. Montgomery. 

Beverly {eagerly). Mother — father — sis — I've enlisted 
and we move on tomorrow. 

Virginia {running to him). Beverly, don't go — don't 
go. I'm afraid. {Hides her face on his shoidder.) 

Beverly {soothing her). Afraid of what? {Looking 
around.) Listen. In less than a month there will be twenty 
thousand men on the Potomac River, and after one pos- 
sible engagement we'll be dictating peace to the Yanks — 

Mrs. M. {rising). John — tell him — he — {Crosses to left 
of Colonel.) 

Colonel. Hush ! Let the boy have the exhaltation of his 
mood. The knowledge will come soon enough. {Puts arm 
about his zvife.) 

Beverly. Why, sis, don't you remember when Peyton 
and I played soldiers with wooden muskets and stick 
horses? Well, it's just a toy war now, and the only differ- 
ence is that we're on real horses and carry real guns and 
come back with real handles to our names. {Crosses to 
Colonel at L. 2 E. Virginia zvalks slozvly to table at R. 
2 E.) Father, you've taught me to love my state-^with 
how deep a love I never realized until now, when it's given 
me to stand for her cause. You've set me the example of 
a true Virginian, sir, and I'll try to be worthy of my her- 
itage. {TJiey clasp hands.) 

Colonel {zvith emotion). My boy! 



TIIH rilREAU Ol- DESTINY. 25 

Bevtrlv (rrossinij to C). Oli, think of it all — the 
cheers ami flowers as we ride away. There'll be the lij^^ht 
of the canipfire, the stories, the songs, the glory of the 
coninion cause. We'll force back the ^'anks step by step. 
There'll be one battle. I trust — one great battle. We'll 
name our terms and then we'll come riding back to God's 
country while the band plays Dixie. 

Enter Sally Ann, Lauka Li:k and To.m, L. U. E. 

Sally {cohiuhj doii'u C). T don't know why the band 
should be playing, but just so long as it's playing Dixie it 
suits me. {Curtseying K. of C.) 

Good morrow, merry 'gentlemen, 
Let nothing you dismay ; 
For here's the Fairfax twins a-come 
To visit this fine day. 
Colonel. Bless my soul. Now which is Sally Ann and 
which is Laura Lee? I declare you are as alike as two peas. 
Laura. So Tom thinks. He's so muddled now that he 
doesn't know whether he's cam in y or wenting. (Crosses to 
left of Bkvkrly.) 

Tom (sighing). "How happy I could be with either, 
Were t'other fair charmer away." 

{Crosses to Sally Ann.) 
Sally. That's the truth for once in your life, Tom. It 
isn't half so easy to make love to two girls as it is to one. 
Is it? 

Tom. Modesty in regard to my attainments forbids me 
to reply. 

Lalka. ]\c'<< going to war, Beverly; he's going to war. 
He's been going ever since the fall of Fort Sumter, and 
during the period of making u\) his mind to start he's torn 
asunder the heart of every maiden in the county. 

Tom (modestly). That is not my fault — merely their 
misfortune. 

Sally ( piilling Tom to front of stage). Stand forth, 
little tin soldier, and j^rove to the assembled multitude that 
you have the military attribute of observation. {Beckons 



26 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Laura Lee, zvho stands with her in front of Tom.) Sally 
Ann and Laura Lee are before you. Question: Which is 
which? (Beverly joins Virginia at R.2 E.) 

Tom. I told you half an hour ago that I didn't know. 
Haven't changed since then, have you? 

Laura. The clever woman is always changing — 

Tom. Her mind? Granted. Also her lovers. 

Sally. A necessary precaution, since she's doomed to 
cope with the infidelity of man. 

Laura. You've known us since the mud pie age. Has 
no dominant characteristic impressed itself upon your 
mind ? 

Tom. Devilish flirts, both of you. {Musingly.) With 
Laura Lee a little in advance. 

Laura {angrily). Well, I reckon not. Sally Ann can 
beat me all hollow. 

Tom {dramatically) . Assembled multitude! Allow me to 
answer the question, ''Which is which?" I present to you 
Miss Laura Lee of the bright eyes, sharp tongue and scin- 
tillating wit. {Points at Laura Lee.) Come here, Sally 
Ann, and let me tie a blue ribbon on your finger. 'Twill save 
my brain the awful task of puzzling over your identity. 

Sally {shrugging shoidders) . Not much. I don't mind 
being a blue ribbon prize, but I'm right particular about the 
judge. {Turns to Virginia.) Come, Virginia, and guide 
me to the scene of festivity. Why are you leaving your 
guests, anyway? {As Colonel and Mrs. M. start to go.) 
Oh, Colonel, are you going, too? And you. Miss Charlotte? 
Then, Virginia, I scorn you as escort — if I may have the 
Colonel. {She stands hack as Virginia and Mrs. M. pass 
out.) Ever heard the Fairfax motto, Colonel? "Every 
man is an opportunity — therefore grasp your opportunity." 
{Seizes his arm. Exeunt Colonel, Mrs. M., Virginia and 
Sally Ann, R. U. E.) 

Laura {crossing to Beverly). Bev, what do you call 
the reinforcement that arrives just as the besieged 
party is at the* end of its resources? Well, never mind — 
you're it. Come on. {Takes his arm, starts to R. U. E., 
and turns.) Goodbye, Tommy dear. I see three fair maid- 



THE THKKAD OF DESTINY. 27 

ens approach ii\i(. Better supply yourself with extra ammu- 
nition in the way of sentimental nothings, sujjar-coated 
lies anil j)roposals that you don't mean, (lixcunt Lai'ra 
Lkk and Hicvlklv, R. U. II. Tom scats himself in chair 
at C.) 

Enter Maktiia, Susan and Jank. R. U. E. Martha 
and Jank i^nth packages, Susan n^ith basket. 

Martha. Oh, Tom, Tom, is it so hard for you to p^o? 
{Starts to him, leaving others.) 

To.M {turnin(j). It's not the mere sacrilire of myself for 
my country that is hard to hear; it's leaving you, Susan. 
{Seizes her hand.) 

Martha {crossing to table at R. 2 E.). Oh, hut I'm 
Martha. 

Tom (risin(j hastily). What's in a name? A fjirl l)y any 
(^ther name would he as sweet. (Martha turns her back.) 
So, I didn't moan it that way, Martha. Oh han^ it (Susa.v 
rojnes up behind him), I don't know what made me call 
you Susan. {Eollozcs her to table.) 

Susan. Tom! 

Tom (turning). Just speakincf of you, Susan. (Hastily 
leads her a^cay, L. U. E. Softly.) Si^eakinp^ of you, aye, 
callinj:^ another hy your name, thinkinj;^' of you, sweetheart, 
moment hy moment, thinkine^ and dreaming only of — 
(Jane comes up behind him.) 

Jane. Tom! 

Tom (turning). Jane! (Leads her a^i'ay, R. U. E.) 
Come, let me lead you to that shady seat within the sylvan 
nook. (Softly.) Fair lady of my heart, the rememhrance 
of you will giadden me in the weary days to come. (Mar- 
tha (/;/(/ Susan come up behind him.) In the light of the 
camphre will he reflected the image of — 

Susan and Martha. Tom! 

Tom (turning). The three of you! (Leads them to tree 
li'ith encircling seat at L. U. E.) Come, group yourselves 
together, my three graces, and I'll humhly sit hefore you. 
(The girls group themselves on seat. Tom sits on ground 
in front.) 



28 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Martha (leaning forward). Oh, Tom, if there should 
be a battle ! I wonder that you cafl be so brave about it all. 

Tom (loftily). The whizzing of the bullets will be music 
to my ears ; the crash of the artillery will spur me on to 
greater deeds ; the thought of you, dear Martha, will help 
me win the laurel wreath of victory. (Leans forward and 
takes her hand.) 

Susan (anxiously). But, Tom, the long, long nights, 
and the chill air of the morning. Do you think you'll have 
cover enough? Remember, you had a touch of rheumatism 
this last winter and your throat gets sore so easily. Won't 
you be careful? 

Tom. Very careful — for your sake. Have no fears. I'm 
sure I can get an extra blanket if I need it. And if you 
will only think of me, dear Sue, no ill can come my way. 
(Drops Martha's hand and takes Susan's.) 

Jane. And Tom, don't overdo in drilling. Promise me 
that if you get the least bit tired, you'll go to your tent and 
rest. 

Tom. I promise, Jane. I'd promise anything to you. It 
makes me very happy that you should care so much. 
(Drops Susan's hand and takes Jane's.) 

Martha (opening package). Tom, we all wish to give 
you some little token for goodbye. I thought maybe these 
slippers would be useful. They'll be so nice to put on in the 
evening when you're tired out from your day's march. 
(Tom hangs slippers about his neck.) 

Susan (opening basket). And Tom, T know you won't 
get what you need in the way of food. So I've fixed a little 
basket of your favorites. Here's a jar of blackberry jam, 
one of plum butter and one of brandy peaches. They'll be 
easy to carry and you may not like the army fare, you 
know. (Tom takes basket.) 

Jane (opening package). Tom, I've been right afraid 
you might oversleep some morning. And they don't like 
you to oversleep, do they? Anyway, I've brought you this 
cunning little clock to put under your pillow. It ticks right 
loud. Listen! (Holds clock to his ear.) 



Tin: lllKKAD Ol- UKSTIXV. 29 

Enter P.F.VKKLV and lu)mi, K. U. E. 

Bkvf.rly {"a'histliiKj). What arc you doinj,', Tom? Settiiij^' 
up llousc•ktTpi^l,^ {.Iftcr a inoincnt.) (Jli, 1 sec. Partiiij^^ 
gifts. 

Susan. Just to make it a little easier for liiiu to ^'o, 
Beverly. 

Bkvkrlv. luasier? Why, my dear j:?irls, it's hard cnou^di 
to tear him away under ordinary conditions. And ncru'. 
Here. ])ick up your helon^inj^s, Tom. Attcntioii. (Tom 
rises.) Mark time. (He obeys.) I'o anus — youn^ ladies. 
{They rise.) Take the ri^ht, jane. And the left, Susan. 
{They obey.) To the rear, Martha, with the commissary 
department. March! {Exeunt To.m, M.\rtii.\, Susan, 
Jane, R. U. E., in tuarehimj time.) 

Edith {erossiui^ to ehair at C). Oh, the pathos of it all, 
the pitiful incai)acity to realize! Why, that hoy has no more 
idea of what tlie struggle will be than — have you. 

Beverly {at table, R. 2 E.). lulith, it can't be much of 
a war. Why, the very flower of the South is preparing to 
march on Washington, twenty thousand strong. 

Edith. Is there no flower in the North to meet it? Is 
the foe so inferior that it will make no stand? Listen, Bev- 
erly. Twenty thousand men will be a mere detachment ere 
the war is over. And before peace is concluded, X'irginia 
will be devastated, X^irginia homes will be destroyed, Vir- 
ginia hopes will be shattered. (He smiles.) You may smile 
if you wish. Like Cassandra of old, I know that words are 
unheeded ; but some day you will realize that my prophecy 
rang true. 

Beverly. Can't wc make you see these things as we see 
them? 

Edith. Never, Beverly — never. Nothing can convince 
me that secession is anything but disastrous and over- 
whelming in its results ; that slavery is anything but the 
nation's curse that must be wiped out by blood. {Crosses 
to heneh at L. 2 E. and leans on baek.) 

Beverly (erossing to ehair at C). I'm sorry. Someway 
I had thought to go away with your good-will — your sym- 
pathy — with something else that now I dare not tell you of. 



lE^ra 



30 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Edith. Oh, Beverly, you have my good-will, my friend- 
ship. But sympathy^. How am I to give sympathy when 
you aim at the welfare of the lan^ I love ; when your hand 
is raised against those who are dear to me? 

Beverly. Then it is the parting of the ways? 

Edith. Why that? Why need I sever the ties that you 
dear Virginians have woven so closely around me? Must 
a difference in opinion mean — separation? Can we not be 
generous to each other? 

Beverly. Not in the way I'd hoped and dreamed of. 
Like the knight of old I had thought to meet my first ven- 
ture with your colors on my shield. 

Edith. My colors? They are those of my nation, Bev- 
erly. The red, white and blue. Will you fight for them? 

Beverly. Never — never. Oh, Edith, I can't. I can't. 
For I am a Virginian, and Virginia has seen fit to become 
one of the Confederate States of America! (Edith goes 
slowly toward L. 2 E., then turns.) 

Edith. Come! {Holds out her hand, he follows. Exe- 
unt Edith and Beverly, L. 2 E.) 

Enter Sally Ann, R. U. E., zuith plate of refreshments. 
Gazes around. Enter Fanny, L. 2 E. 

Sally {crossing to table at R. 2 E.). Now where can 
my escort be? Fanny! (Fanny hurries to her.) Did you 
see that red-headed man anywhere around? {Places plate 
on table.) 

Fanny. He's ober dar wid de udder one ob yuh. 

Sally. Mixed again. Well, so much the better. Run on, 
Fanny, and don't let anybody know where I am. I want 
to be alone. 

Fanny. Sho' nuff. Miss Twinny. But would you min' 
tellin' me ef yuh is de one or de udder? 

Sally. Em Sally Ann. Being twins, Fanny, is some- 
times discouraging, isn't it? 

Enter George Washington, L. 2 E., with tray; zvalks 
slowly across stage. 

Fanny. Yas'm. Jes' one ob yo'self is about all a 
pussofi can manage, ain't it. {Catches sight of George 



TllLC TllKKAD Ol- DESTINY. 31 

Washington.) Careful, dar, Tiawgc Wasliin'ton. Don't 
yuu (Irap ilat tray or I slio' bust yo' liaid wide open. {Fol- 
loiK'S him. lixcunt Fanny and (jEoRdi:, A". (/. /:. Sam-Y 
Ann scats herself in chair, K. 2 E., and begins to cat.) 

Enter John, R. U. R., unseen by her. He stands looking 
at her. Sally Ann looks uf" and sees him. 

Sally {nodding and smiling). Ilowdy! 

John (adi-aneing ). rrelly tired at present and a tride 
dusty. \\ itli your permission, I'll sit here.' {Seats himself 
in chair at C.) 

Sally. Who are you, anyway? 

John. Nobody you know. 

Sally {rising). Thank you for telling nie in such a 
courteous manner. Here in the South you know we are 
accustomed to fjentlemen. With your permission, I'll say 
"good-day." {Starts off R. U. E.) 

John [risini^). Ob, please don't. I didn't mean it that 
way. I was just afraid you wouldn't talk to me if you 
found out who 1 auL 

Sally. Well, I certainly won't if 1 don't find out. 
{Comes sloi<.'ly back.) 

John. Very well. I'm John Merivale Morton at your 
service. I'm a Yankee, too, and proud of it. 

Sally (curiously). A Yankee ! I've always wanted to 
see a Yankee real close. {Comes back to chair at R. 2 E.) 

John (sarcastically). Haven't you any museum of curi- 
osities around here where you can become acquainted with 
the beast? 

Sally. You — seem — right — nice. 

John. A few of us are. 

Sally {seating herself). Where'd you come from? 

John. College. Ran away. {Sits again in chair at C.) 

Sally. College? Mere in Virginia? 

John. Unfortunately, yes. Tlaced here hy the whim of 
an eccentric but wealthy grandfather with Southern pro- 
pensities. 

Sally. What did you run away for? 

John. Wanted to go in the army. 



32 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Sally. What did your grandfather say? 

John. Didn't say; just exploded. During the fireworks 
I escaped. Having no money, I walked. Consequently, 
I'm starving. {Rises and zvalks to table.) 

Sally. I reckon you are. Even if you are a Yank, I 
can't see you starve. {Hands him plate.) Take this — eat — 

John. Drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may be 
enemies. {Returns to chair and seats himself.) 

Sally. Who says we're friends now? 

John. You've fed me. That's the way to a man's heart, 
you know. 

Sally {archly). Mercy. We Virginia girls don't have 
to depend upon that. Just being ourselves — usually brings 
results. 

John. I can believe it. Gee, but these biscuits are bully 
good. 

Sally. Beaten biscuits they are. You have light bread 
up North, don't you? 

John. I suppose that's what you call it. 

Sally {shrugging her shoidders). Ugh! And apple 
"sass" for breakfast. 

John. Apple sass may be unknown in this region; but 
another kind of sass is pretty plentiful. 

Sally. Do you really reckon there's going to be a war? 

John. We don't reckon at all — we know. 

Sally. I should think you'd get tired of having us teach 
you things. 

John. Watch out, my Dixie lady. You're on the verge 
of a pretty hard lesson yourself, and it won't be taught in 
words of one syllable, either. 

Sally {rising). Watch out, my impudent Yankee Doo- 
dle. Before you all know it you'll be beaten so hard that 
you'll be praying for mercy and promising anything if we'll 
just come back to you. 

John {rising). Oh, you think so, do you? Since you're 
a lady I can't answer that in the emphatic way I'd like to. 
Haven't you ever known a real representative Yankee? 

Sally. No, just you. {Leans on fable.) 

John {angrily). Now what do you mean by that? 



THE Til k i:\iJ wi DESTINY. 33 

Sally. Xniliin*; at all. \'c)u arc the only Yank I know, 
iiul after knowing you maybe 1 won't want to know any 
others. 

John i^caycrly). Do you like nic well enough to — 

Sallv. Don't misunderstand. 1 mean isn't one Yank 
enouji^ii for a X'irginia jjirl to count amonp her ac(|uaint- 
ance? What do you suppose my friends would do if they 
could sec me now? 

John. Ouarantine you, I suppose. This will he a great 
adventure for you, won't it? I>elter keep it as a dangerous 
secret. 

Sally. Kccf^ it! A secret's no fun unless you tell it. 

John {crossing to tabic). Fair lady, I return to you your 
plate — scraped, cleaned and polished! You have today clone 
a great service to the North, in that you have fed and re- 
vived one of her most loyal supporters. (Puts plate on 
tabic.) 

Sally. Don't put it that way or you'll make me sorry 
I've done it. 

John. To X'irginia cooking and Virginia cooks I yield 
the palm of glory. Isn't that nice of me? Now, where's the 
recruiting station? 

Sally (pertly). For Yanks? How should I know? Ask 
the niggers or some of the poor white trash. 

John (bozcing). Thanks for telling me in such a cour- 
teous manner. In the North, you know, we are accus- 
tomed to ladies. With your permission, I'll say good-day. 
( Turns and starts to7card L. U. E.) 

Sally. Oh, stop, John Merivale Morton. I didn't mean 
what I said, and I apologize. (Pleadingly.) Please stay. 
(John turns and looks at her.) 

John. Heavens, are all Southern girls like you? What 
I've been missing all these years. (Comes slozcly back to 
chair at C.) 

Sally. Aren't there any girls up North ? 

John. Yes, but they're up North. And you haven't even 
told me your name. (Sally comes up to him.) 

Sally. Sally Ann Fairfax. Will you remember it? 

John. Will I remember? Listen, Sally Ann Fairfax. 



34 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Here's my frat pin. {Takes off pin.) It's the only thing I 
can give you and it means mote' to me than anything else 
in the world. Will you let me put it on you and forget 
that I am a Yank? (Sally dmzvs away.) 

Sally. Wait. Are all other members Yanks — North- 



erners 



John. Only a few. Most of them are your loyal Vir- 
ginians. 

Sally. Then I'll wear it. (Suddenly.) Anyway, I'd 
wear it for you ; for, even if you are a Yank, I like you. 
Goodbye, John Merivale Morton. (Holds out both hands.) 

John (taking her hands). Goodbye, Sally Ann Fairfax. 
Some day I'm coming back to you.- It may be in the midst 
of war, but the war clouds will pass away; it may be in 
times of bitterness and hatred, but peace will conquer. 
Wherever I go, whatever I do — even when I'm fighting for 
Uncle Sam — I'll think of you just as I see you now. And 
some day I'm coming back to Dixie, Sally Ann. Some day 
I'm coming back to you. (Exit John, L. U. E. Sally 
stands looking after him. She waves her hand, goes slozvly 
to table,, then takes the plate and slozvly leaves the stage 
at R. U. E.) 

Enter Marcella, Mammy Dinah, Marion and Tom. 
L. 2 E. Marcella pulling the reluctant Mammy, who 
sinks heavily into chair at C. Marcella sits on right arm 
of chair; Marion stands behind; Tom sits on bench at 
L. 2 E.). 

Mammy. Law, Miss Marion an' Miss Ma'cella, who 
you reckon gwine cut de cake fuh Miss Charlotte up at de 
big house ? Who gwine make de cherry bounce ? Gwan now. 
I ain't got no time to fool wid you. 

Marcella. Oh, Mammy, just a minute. And they are 
such splendid tea grounds. (Holds out tea cup.) 

Marion. And Tom's just dying to have his fortune told. 

Tom (gloomily). I have no fortune — only misfortune. 

Marcella. Of course, Tom, we know that there would 
be a miss something in it. (Puts cup in Mammy's hand.) 



THE THREAD OE DESTINY. 35 

Marion. And it's only llic (lucstion oi wliich miss it is 
that's botlicrinjj us. 

Tom. To hear you people talk anyone would think that 
I'm a flirt. 

Makii-.lla. Flirt/ \\ hy. Tom, you are as constant a 
the Northern star. 

Tom. Not much. If I can't be the ."^uuliiern one, I won't 
play. 

Mamm\ . Stop dat nonsense, Marse Tom, and conic hyah. 
chile, if yuh want me to read dem tea j^rounds ; for it 
won't take lon^ to settle dis hyah chile's hash. { Looks 
closely at tea f/ronmis.) Law, honey, you gwine on a loni^ 
journey. I spec' you gwine to war. 

Tom ( f^ctulatttly). I don't know whether I am or not 
Things look different now. I reckon I'll stay at home. 

Marion (tcasiugly). Mercy, Tom! Think of that mar- 
tial music you were to hear : the brigadier general you were 
to be ; the honorable wounds you were to receive. 

Marcella. Wounds? Cupid's arrows have alrearly 
pierced you so many times, that if we'd hold you u\) to the 
light you'd look like open work embroidery ! 

Tom. You girls make me tired. Ilawtrt I a right to 
change my mind? 

Mammy. (.s7/7/ studying tea (jroufuis). Oat changin' de 
min'. honey, belong to. a woman, an' dese hyah tea grounds 
say dat ef you change et much mo' 'bout de gals, dar won't 
be no min' 'tall, an' no gals ne'der. 

Tom (rising and crossing to left of chair C). That's just 
like you, mammy — taking up for the girls — and not a word 
about their flirting and their foolishness. If there's any- 
thing more tickle than the southern girl, 1 haven't found it. 

Mammy. Law chile, de good Lord gib de woman dese 
ve'y things, jis kase she got to tight agin de man. Jes 
so long as she pull de wool ober his eyes and use flatterous 
words to him — jes as long as she feed him good — she got 
him jes where she want him. { Rising.) (jo long, Marse 
Tom — how I gwine to tell yo' fortune till yo* git to be a 
man? (Exit R. U. E., singing negro song.) 



36 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Marion. Alone, Tommy, alone with, you ! A third per- 
son doesn't matter! • 

Marcella {rising). Don't go to war, Tom — we need you- 
here to practice upon. {Coaxingly.) Don't go! {Joining 
hands, they circle around him.) 

Enter Peyton, R. U. E. 

Tom. Help! Help! 

Peyton {whistling). Tom, surrounded by girls and 
calling for help ! Is the millenium at hand ? Or is it one 
proposal too many, my boy? {Leans against table, R. 2 E.) 

Tom. It's a practical example of too much, of a good 
thing. 

Peyton. Look here children— is there any particular rea- 
son that you should cleave to this particular spot? Can't 
Tom make love any place else? 

Marion. All Tom needs is the girl, Peyton. Practice has 
made any place an enchanted spot. 

Peyton. Then move on, all of you, Pm to meet my lady 
love here. Those people up there have succeeded in keep- 
ing us apart all afternoon. {Pleadingly.) Have mercy, 
and give us this chance. 

Tom. I want to stay here and see how you do it, Peyton. 

Peyton. How I do it — hear the boy. In comparison 
wuth your efforts, my modest attempts are as Water unto 
wane. 

Enter Virginia, R. U. E. 

Peyton. Now this is where your career of usefulness 
ends. Get out. 

Virginia. Oh, Peyton, how inhospitable. And Tom once 
proppsed to me too! {Crosses to C.) 

Peyton {standing). Isn't that enough reason for me to 
eject him? Suppose you'd accepted him ? 

Virginia {softly). Why, how could I, when there was 
you! (Peyton starts to her.) 

Peyton. Virginia — 

Tom {rushing between them). This is no place for Tom- 
my. If I ever proposed to you, Virginia Montgomery — < 



Till' IIIKI-.AIJ Ol- DIlSTINY. 37 

and I don'l rcmcnibcr doiii^ it — it was because I didn't 
want you to foci slij^dited, 

Makcklla {pullini^ him azcay). Well somebody else is 
going to feel sligbted if you don't hurry up. I'll break my 
engagc!iicnt. 

Marion. I'll break mine loo, tben wbere'll you be? 
(Virginia crosses to bench, L. 1 li.) 

Tom. If 1 were to aj)ostropbize the soutbern girl, I'd 
say — 

Marcklla. Look Marion, who is that new girl? The 
one with Ik'verly? (Points.) 

Tom {suddenly). Where? {Looks out.) By jove, I won- 
der who she is. Come on. {Iixeunt Marcklla, Marion, 
Tom, R. U.E.) 

Peyton. What's the use of being engaged honcy-love, 
if you're way olY there and — {crosses to her and attempts 
to embrace her. She i\.'ards him off.) 

Virginia. Don't, Peyton, don't — somebody might see — 

Peyton. I don't care, do you? 

Virginia. No, no! (Hastily as he starts to her). Yes I 
do, anyway you're going to have years and years in which 
to make love to me. 

Peyton. That won't be long enough. 

Virginia. And you'll have years and years for me to 
prove — oh lots of things. 

Peyton. What, for example? 

X'lRCiMA. I low much I — like you! (lie rushes toward 
her, she dodi^es, rises and hurriedlx seats herself in chair 
C.) Hands off, Peyton! 

Peyton. Virginia, suppose something should haj)pen to 
test your love. Could it stand the test? (Sits on right arm 
. / her chair.) 

Virginia, It wouldn't be love if it couldn't, would it? 

Peyton. Would you be true to me — through anything, 
through everything? 

\'iR<;iNiA. How strangely you talk. True to you ? Why 
do you ask me? * 

Peyton. Just to have you answer, dear. Isn't that reason 
nough? 



38 THE^tREAD OF DESTINY. • 

Virginia (putting her hand in his). Peyton — what is it? 

Peyton. I've sometliing to tell you. 

Virginia. Don't, Peyton, don'^ — not today. It was the 
brightest day of my life until the shadow fell across it. 
Somehow I feel that the happy days are over. (Rises.) 

Peyton (rising). The yesterdays have been good to us 
Virginia. We must not grieve if there is a shadow on the 
face of tomorow. 

Virginia. But there won't be a war, there can't be. 
(Crosses to bench at L. 2 E.) 

Peyton. But there zvill be a war — a bitter one. We 
may as well face the question today as tomorrow. 

Virginia. And you will go? (Seats herself.) 

Peyton. Would you have me stay? 

Virginia. No I couldn't, I couldn't; your honor is very 
dear to me. But if there is a war; to wait, to fear, to suf- 
fer, oh Peyton, I fear I am a very little girl after all. I've 
had you all my life and I need you, now. (Holds out her 
hands.) 

Peyton (crossing to her). And I need you, dear, more 
than I ever needed you before. For, Virginia, I'm going 
into the Union Army. 

Virginia. I don't understand, I don't understand. (Pulls 
her hands away.) 

Peyton. It's hard to repeat it, dear, I'm going into the 
Union army ! Oh you don't know what it means for me to 
say this, how I've fought it for weeks, how I've struggled 
against this conviction of what is right. Outwardly, I've 
been the happy, carefree boy who seemed to have nothing 
but good fortime as his heritage; inwardly I've been the 
man with but two thoughts — love for you and love for my 
country. 

Virginia. And you say this' to me, you dare to say it? 
(Rises.) 

Peyton. Oh, Virginia, I can't make you understand — - 
nobody will understand. I hardly understand myself. I 
only know that I must go. 

Virginia (scornfully). Oh that I should have given my 
love to a traitor, that I should live to see you turn against 



THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 39 

your stale, against those wlio arc dearest to you, to wlioin 
you owe tlie most. Oli Peyton, tell nie that it isn't so. {dns 
close to him ami lays her hand on his shoulder.) 

pKVTON. Ihn it is so, Virginia. If 1 lift my hand against 
the South 1 know that I strike at the heart of all I love the" 
niDsl ; if 1 turn against the L'niun 1 am false to all that is 
best in me. 

V'iRGiM.v. But Beverly, my brother — your best friend. 
[Turns and 7ealks to L. 2 It.) 

ri-.VTnx. Ilu^li. X'irginia, I can't speak of that. All that 
I can do is to pray that we'll never meet. 

ViKciMA. And your father — oh, 1 am glad that he has 
not lived to see this day. 

Pevto.x. Don't make it so hard for me, Virginia. 

ViRGixi.\ (turning). Listen, Peyton, if you do this ter- 
rible thing — if you are false to my state, my people, my 
cause, you must choose between this mistaken duty and 
me! 

Peyton. I expected this, Virginia, and I can only say 
that if I knew my choice meant to lose you and your love, 
forever, I must go on as I have begun. I have ceased to 
reason. I only know that I must go! 

ViRGiNi.\ {seornfully). Then go! 

Peyton {rushing to her and catching her in his arms.) 
Virginia, you shall not send me away from you in this way. 
Is this the love that was to stand the test of anything — of 
everything? 

Virginia. I had not reckoned on treason. A Virginia 
woman does not even recognize an acquaintance among the 
enemies of Virginia. 

Peyton. You mean it? (Releases her.) 

Virginia. I mean it, Peyton. The moment you ally 
yourself with an alien country, an alien people and an alien 
cause, you place a chasm between us that never can be 
bridged. (Seats herself on bench, L. 2 E.) 

Peyton (leaning over back of bench). Virginia, there is 
an unseen hand that is silently weaving the fabric of our 
lives. Joy, sorrow, romance, sacrifice — back and forth the 
shuttle gathers the tangled threads as the pattern is noise- 



TI?^ 



40 THE^THREAD OF DESTINY. 

lessly and mystically, fashioned. But in and out of the 
background runs the golden thread of destiny; a destiny 
that will bring you back to nre as surely as it will evolve 
from a distracted North and a rebellious South, a sane and 
steadfast Union. 

Virginia. I must not listen to you — I must not. 

Peyton. Long ago two rival factions quarreled. One 
chose the white rose as its badge, the other bore upon its 
shield the red. (Picks rose from bush.) Today I pick this 
crimson bud. I give it to you, Virginia, for it symbolizes 
my heart's blood. If I do not come back, it will tell you 
always of my love for you, of my duty as I saw it. (Vir- 
ginia turns and takes the rose.) It's good-bye, dear — per- 
haps forever. Before I go give me the white rose that you 
wear. (Takes rose from hair.) So like you in its purity 
and sweetness. I'll keep it always, and it will help me to 
be true to myself — to you — and to what I think is right. 
(Kisses rose and places it within his coat.) 
Enter Susan^ R. U. E. 

Susan (to those off stage). Here, Uncle Billy — this way, 
everybody, for a Virginia reel. 

Enter Uncle Billy with fiddle and takes his place C. 
of F. He is folloived by Beverly, Tom, Colonel, Edith, 
Sally Ann^ Laura Lee. Peyton and Virginia take the 
places of head couple. They all dance the Virginia reel to 
the tune of "Dixie," singing the chorus. 

Curtain. 



Act II. 



Scene: Hall in the home of Colonel Montgomery. 
Landscape drop seen through door at C. in F. Entrance at 
C. in F. with double doors opening in; raised step at back 
of door extending fidl length of entrance. Long zvindozv at 
R. of C. in F. zvith floiver boxes. Stair of seven or eight 
steps beginning at L. 2 E., zvith landing at L. U. E.; small 
window on landing. Practical doors at R. U. E., L. 2 E. 



THK THREAD OF DESTINY. 41 

atid L. U. n. {on Uiudnuj); ohi-fashioucd mantel down R., 
adorned icit/i a small Confederate fia\^ and some old-fash- 
ioned ornaments. Sofa under 7i'indo7v R. of C. in I\ Large 
arm ehair R. of C; chairs at R, 2 li. and L. 2 IS.; hassock 
by staincay doxi'n L. Large round table dozen R. ti-j/Zi la)np 
and books: also a decanter of i^'ine and glasses. Large Con- 
federate flag on staincay. I'urniture. if possible, should be 
of haircloth adorned 7<'ith crochet tidies; the short 7vindo7u 
curtains are of muslin. In any aiailable space on the 7calls. 
family portraits in o:al frames may be hung. Mantel may 
be omitted, in z^'hich case the small Confederate flag is 
fastened to the ivall. 

At rise stage is 7i'ell illumined, since it is afternoon. Dis- 
corered, Unclf. Hilly standing on step at entrance C. in 
F. and looking off L. 

Billy (speaking to Mose off stage). Fust fox out de hole 
is yer? Well den Mose, you jist move on — step lively too — 
for ef you j^^wiiie over to de damn ^'allks, thar ain't no use 
in tarryin' wid us no lonj^cr. Don't you tech dat do^ o' 
Marse John's — dar your own sniveling stump-tailed yallcr 
cur down by de pike. Ilurry up. De Yanks am a-waitin^ 
fur you an' ef day whallop dat black hide ob yourn et 
sarve you right. 

Enter M.xmmy Dinah, L. 2 E. 

Mammy {at door). Law, Billy, what you bawlin* 'bout? 
Jes' kase dat fool Mose wanter p^o? Let 'em go. Can't 
much blame him. All de udder niggers am gone an* dis 
plantation done got nothin' but hawg an' hominy on it. 

Billy {coming doivn C). You reckon you an* me leave 
kase thar ain't nothin' but hawg an' hominy? 

Ma.mmy {at back of chair). Law no, Billy; but den 
you'se Billy an' I'se Dinah an' dat make all de difference 
in de world. 

Billy {at chair R. of C). ALarse John and ^Larse Bev- 
erly gone — niggers run away — plantation gone to waste — 
Mis' Charlotte hungry an' — Lawd, Dinah, dis ain't war — 
it am hell. 



42 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Mammy. Hell? Don' you reckon I see Mis' Charlotte 
growin' mo' peaked ev'y day? 

Billy. De ol' days, Dinah — •'member? Dem wuz high 
times. Git up in de mawnin', look out ober de lawn an' 
see mo'n a dozen ob de fustest quality folks ridin' in at de 
gates. 

Mammy. Marse John an' Miss Charlotte both on de 
po'ch ; all de little pickannnies runnin' from de quarters. 

Billy. Miss Jinny and Marse Peyton — 

Mammy. Hush! Dat chile's trouble jes' to think of — 
not to talk 'bout. (Pause.) Billy, de lights am out, de 
flowers am faded, de guests am gone. We is all dat's lef 
of de ol' days — an' de good Lawd willin', we'll stay till de 
end. 

Enter Colonel Montgomery, R. U. E. 

Colonel (coming down R.). Plotting and planning, Di- 
nah? Or does Billy need a bit of discipline? (Puts hat on 
table.) 

Mammy. Law, Marse John, you reckon I got time to fool 
wid Billy? Ain't I busy gittin' yo' dinner an' ain't dat dar 
chicken jis' 'bout ready to take off de fire? (Exit L. 2 E.) 

Billy. Marse John, yo' gwine back to de fightin' ? 

Colonel. Back to the fighting, Billy — ^back to the sus- 
pense — ^back to the struggle for a lost cause. (Crosses 
slozvly to chair, L. 2 E.) 

Billy. I wish I could help, Marse John. 

Colonel. Help? Why, Billy, do you suppose I could be 
satisfied unless I knew that you were here? Helpf Why, 
you've been my stay in time of trouble — my friend, Billy — 
my friend. 

Billy (zuith emotion). Marse John — 

Colonel. Listen, Billy. Lm your master no longer. The 
President has made you free — free to go where you wish — 
to do whatever you may choose. 

Billy (advancing to him). Marse John, I neber thought 
you'd say this to me — atter all dese years together — atter — 
(kneels before Colonel.) 

Colonel. Billy — man — you don't understand. No mat- 



THE THREAD 01- DESTIXV. 43 

ter how iiuicli 1 may wisli you to slay, liow imich you may 
mean to mc, I must recognize tlic law of the land. {Puts 
hand on Billy'j shoulder And raises him.) 

I^iLLV. De law of a Ian' dat brings sufFerin' an* sorrow 
to de people I luh ? Marsc John, dis nigger recognize no law 
hut de law of his marstcr. I wan' to stay wid you, Marse 
John — I wan' to stay wid you! 

Colon KL {turnimj). And what have I to offer you? Only 
the remembrance of a man who has drunk deep of the cup of 
bitterness — who has heard the piteous pulsating 'cry of the 
stricken South. Ah, Billy, it is memory that stings. {Seats 
himself.) 

Billy. No, Marse John — no. It's memory that blesses 
us. Don* you reckon tie happy times dat have come and 
gone are mo' to us dan de darksome days? 

CoLONFx. The darksome days are upon us. Billy. Cker 
there is a little liand of men who wear the gray. They are 
fighting grimly, silently, struggling bravely against that 
which threatens the life and the liberty of the land they 
love. 

Billy. Marse John, ol' Billy can't understand it all ; but 
>omehow he's a thinkin' dat ef de Lawd has tooken care of 
us all dis time he'll not fergit us in de day of trouble, an* 
what's gwine to happen, gwine to happen fo' de best. De 
sun am been in hidin' dis long time, Marse John ; but some 
day it shine out agin on all of us. 

CoLONiiL. On all of us. (^h, Billy, if I might be sure of 
it. It's the thought of the one that may be missing — of those 
who may be left — that takes the manhood out of me. Bev- 
erly — my boy — in constant danger — 

Billy. Pshaw! Marse John ; you think dat de Yanks can 
ketch dat dere-debbil of a Beverly? Why I lerned him to 
ride myself — and — (Colonkl bo7^'s his head on his hands) 
— don't. Marse John ; don't. M'embcr dis. dat whatever hap- 
pens, I'm here. (Puts hands on Colonel's houlder.) 

Colonel (rising). T will remember it, Billy. And I know 
that you'll never break faith. Give ine your hand, old fel- 
low — we understand each other. (They clasf> hands.) 



44 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Enter Mammy Dinah, L. 2 E. 

Mammy. Law sakes, Billy, lipw you reckon I gwine fix 
de Colonel's dinner if you stan' dar all day? {Crosses to 
R. U. E. and opens door and calls to Fanny off stage.) 
Ain't you sot dat table yet, Fanny — you lazy, no 'count 
nigger? I ain't gwine to tell you no mo'. (Turning and 
calls.) Billy? (Exit R. U. E.) 

Billy (turning head). Comin', Dinah — comin' ! (Wip- 
ing his eyes on his sleeve.) Dis damp weather do suttinly 
gib me de sniffles, Marse John. (Exit L. 2 E.) 

Enter Betty, R. U. E. 

Betty (coming dozvn C). Father, all by yourself? (Sud- 
denly.) Oh, you're troubled — you're weary. 

Colonel (extending his hand). War is a cruel thing, 
little girl. It has taken away all the gladsomeness of your 
youth, and has given you fears and responsibilities too 
heavy for you to bear. The bud has become a blossom be- 
fore its time. 

Betty (taking his hand in both of hers). But blossoms 
are lots more use than buds, father. (Drazvs him to chair 
R. of C.) Come, sit here — as you used to do — and make 
believe that the war's all over and you're home again. 

Colonel (seating himself R. of C.). It is hard to make 
believe in the face of disaster, dear. 

Betty (perching on left arm of chair). It's well that we 
cannot see into the future, isn't it? I don't reckon that 
many of us would have the courage to face it. 

Colonel. Courage comes with the dawn of each day; 
and in some way we are given strength to bear the burden. 

Betty. I have been thinking today of Virginia's engage- 
ment party — it seems so many years ago — and I was such 
a little girl. 

Colonel (quickly). Oh, you should have had your youth 
and the beautiful things that go with youth. And instead — 

Betty (placing right arm about his neck). Hush, father. 
They are such trivial things, after all ; for now I wish only 
for one thing, and I wish it so hard that it seems as if it 



TIIK TlIki:.\D 01' DKSTIXV. 45 

must come true. Oli, you know the wish without my iclHuj^ 
you — that we will all once mure be — together. 

Colon I :l { sadly). Together. It's the most beautiful 
word in the world, Betty. i^Piits riylit hand un her left.) 

Bktty. I try to be brave — really I do — and each morn- 
ing I say to myself, "The same sun that's shining here is 
siiining on Beverly — on father. Some day the war will be 
forgotten. They will he home again, and we shall be happy 
— hapjn' !" But there is always a choke in my throat and 
sometimes I cannot see the sunshine — because of the tears. 
( Wipes her eyes.) 

CoLONKL (tenderly). Dear daughter, Virginia did not 
>end all her bravest soldiers to war — for her women re- 
mained at home. They have fought their own battles of 
suspense, of fortitude and of privation. 

Bkttv. I'm not much of a soldier, am T ? Tears and faint- 
heartedness do not become your daughter and Beverly's 
sister. {Rises.) 

Colonel (rising and putting hands on her shoulders). 
Little Colonel, I have never found you failing on your duty; 
that's why I'm leaving the garrison in your charge, for I 
know that my commander will supply the ammunition of 
cheer, of smiles and courage. Be brave, little soldier ; be 
brave, and your father will carry away with him a conso- 
lation that will hell) him in the days to come. 

Bettv. I will, father. Oh, I will! 

Mammy (off stage). Marse John, you reckon dis chicken 
gwinc wait fuh you all de day ? 

Colonel. I'm coming, Dinah; I'm coming. (He erosses 
to R. U. E., turns, eoines back to I^kttv at C, kisses her 
and leaves the room at R. U. 11.) 

Enter Louise, C. in E. 

Louise (coming down C). Evening, Miss Betty. I've 
just torn my gown on your obstreperous rosebush. May I 
bother you for a pin ? 

Bkttv {turning). Surely you may. Miss Lawton. Just 
come right in. Only you nuistn't call our rosebush obstrej)- 



46 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

erous, for it's quite the joy of our household. (Takes pin 
from dress and hands it to Louise.) 

Louise. Traditional, I suppose. Like so many other 
things in this adorable Virginia. {Pins her dress.) 

Betty. Quite traditional. Mother and father planted it 
on their wedding day, and it has bloomed every year since 
then. You're visting here, aren't you. Miss Lawton? 
(Stands with back to table and hands on it.) 

Louise. Hardly that. Rather, recuperating. I've been 
teaching school in Kentucky. (Crosses to chair at L. 2 E.) 

Betty. I reckon that does wear one out, but I've always 
thought it would be fun to teach the young idea to shoot — 

Louise. Gracious! Nobody in Kentucky needs to be 
taught to shoot — that knowledge is born with him. (Seats 
herself.) 

Betty. And this is your first visit to Virginia? 

Louise. My first. And I'm finding but one lack in your 
beautiful state. 

Betty. And that? 

Louise. Men. 

Betty (laughing). A sad situation for a Kentucky girl, 
isn't it? I'm sorry; but all our men have gone to war. Vir- 
ginia needed them more than we. 

Louise. This (pointing to Colonel^s hat by table) 
doesn't bear out your statement as to the lack of all things 
masculine. 

Betty (tiirning her head). Oh, my father's. He's been 
wnth us for a few hours and goes back to his command 
this evening. 

Louise. Does he come often? 

Betty. Very seldom. And each time it's harder to let 
him go. 

Louise. You Virginia women are very brave. Is — is 
there no other man in your family? 

Betty. Oh, yes, my brother, Beverly — the most wonder- 
ful brother in all the world. 

Louise. Then he must be a very important man to the 
southern cause. 

Betty. General Lee puts every hope in him. 



THE TllUEAD Ul- DESTINY. 47 

LoL'isi-: (ijiiickly). Docs lie ride? 

Betty. Ride/ \\ hy, every Virginian rides ; and Beverly 
is in the sadille twenty hours out of the twenty-four. Why 
did you ask? 

LoLiSK. Why, my dear, for no other reason than that 
of idle curiosity. {Rises.) I've been selfish, haven't I? 
Takinjx you from your father. If you'll f^ive me a j^lass 
of water before I venture out on that dusty pike, I'll be 
just that much more indebted to you. 

Betty. Why, i should. have thought of that. I'm afraid 
you think me a poor hostess. You'll excuse me a moment. 
{Exit L.2E.) 

Louise goes Juistily to door C. in P., beekons and is 
joined by John, z^'lio eomes from R. 

Louise {quiekly). This is the place, I tliink. There is 
a brother — evidently a scout — likely the man you want. 
The house has many hiding places and will bear shadow- 
ing. {Exit John to R. Louise comes to C.) 

Enter Betty, L. 2 E., with (jiass of ivater ; crosses to 
Louise. 

Louise {taking glass). Thank you so much. {Drinks.) 
And will you come to see me sometime? 

Betty. I'll try, and I wish 1 might do something to 
make your stay more pleasant. I don't like you tn remem- 
ber us as inhospitable. Ciood-bye. {Shakes Louise's //(/;/(/. 
Exit Louise, C. in E. Betty gazes after her, then turns 
and leaves the room at R. U. E.) 

Enter George Washington and Fanny, C. in P.. 
George Wasthington carrying a basket. 

Fanny. Much obleeged, Gawge W'ashin'ton. {Sits on 
.step in door.) Won't you set down an' rest a while? 

CjKorge {seating himself by her). Reckon I will. It sho' 
am lonesome ober at de plantation since de big house am 
closed and Marse Peyton gone to de war — 

Fanny. Gone to de \'anks, why don' you say? Ef he\l 
a-stayed at home an' behaved heself — 

George. You hush, Fanny. Dar's one thing you can't 
tear to pieces wid yo' tongue an' dat's Marse Peyton. VA 
he wanter fight wid de \'anks you may be sho' dat it's all 



:iE^5 



48 ■ THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

right fo' him to fight wid 'em. Marse Peyton, he don't 
make no mistake. 

Fanny {sniffing). Huh! I reckon you is insinuatin' dat 
Marse Beve'ly made de mistake — 

George {sullenly). Ain't insinuatin' nuttin. De Baileys 
dey don' beheve in criticisin' dey neighbors. 

Fanny {pertly). De Montgome'ys, dey don' do nuttin 
to be criticized 'bout. 

George. Look hyah, Fanny, I done got tired of fightin' 
wid you. Dar is 'nough fightin' goin' on any way widout 
tongue-lashin'. 

Fanny {sighing). Dese am troublous times, Gawge 
Washin'ton — troublous times. De sky am jis' one big black 
cloud. 

George {moving closer). Every cloud, it got a silber 
linin', Fanny. 

Fanny. You reckon dat's true, Gawge Washin'ton? 

George {moving closer). Fanny {leaning to her), won' 
you let me be de silber linin' to yo' cloud ? 

Fanny {drazving away). Lan' sakes, Gawge Washin'- 
ton, I don' wan' no tarnished silber linin' to my cloud. 

Enter Ralph C. in F. hack of them. 

Ralph {dictatorially) . Tell your Miss Virginia that I 
wish to see her. 

Fanny {paying no attention). Ez I wuz sayin', Gawge 
Washin'ton — 

Ralph. Did you hear what I said? 

Fanny. I heard what you said but I don' jes' 'prove ob 
de way you said it. 

Ralph. You impudent black creature, do you know to 
whom you are speaking? 

Fanny {turning her head). Law, yes — Marse Francis. 
You reckon you kin be de only man what didn't go to war 
and folks not know it. 

Ralph. I'll have you whipped — 

Fanny. Oh, no, you won't. I b'long to de Montgome'ys, 
an' de Montgome'ys don' whip dey niggers. 

Ralph {angrily). Will you tell your mistress I am here? 



THE TllkliAD OK DESTINY. 49 

Fanxv (rising). I ^o warn licr dal you is hyali. (George 
rises.) Lome on, (lawfjc VVasliin'ton ; \vc continue our in- 
t(.'rrui)tc(l conhcrsalion out in dc j^yardcn. {li.vriDtt Fanny 
iDUi CiKORCK to R.) 

R.w.vii comes ({(KOI C crosses to.uuintel, e.vaniines ar- 
ticles on mantel and table, then crosses and seats himself 
in chair, L. 2 E. .After a few moments \ iu(;im\ enters, 
R. U. E. 

X'iKc.iNiA. Mr. Francis? (Stands at door.) 

RALrii {rising). Miss Montj^onicry, may I liave a few 
nionicnts' conversation willi you ? 

\'iK(MNiA. Be very brief. My father is with us for a 
few hours and my time belonj^s to him. 

Ralph. It is — business, perhaps you mie^ht call it. 

\'iKGiNiA (turning). Then I'll call my mother. Doubt- 
less— 

Rali'II. But it is business with you — you alone. Will 
you be seated? 

Virginia. Thank you, I prefer to stand. 

Ralph. Miss Montgomery, your plantation is in a most 
hopeless condition. 

X'lRGiNiA. Did you come here to tell me that? Then we 
may as well call the visit at an end. (Comes down R. to 
table.) 

Ralph. Wait. Let me finish. This condition you are 
powerless to remedy. 

Virginia. It is the fortune of w^ar. We are not com- 
plaining. 

Ralph. I came here today to offer my help. 

X'iRGiNiA. It is not necessary, Mr. Francis. T thank you 
for the impulse, but — 

Ralph. Listen. .\s you know, I have been a successful 
man — 

Virginia. Successful in a material way, perhaps. Par- 
don me if I say that success gained by taking advantage of 
other people's misfortunes is not worthy the name of suc- 
cess. 

Ralph. Fvery one must look out ior himself. Miss 
Montgomery. 



50 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Virginia. It has been proven, I think, that one may do 
that and still lend a helping hand — 

Ralph. I have improved my opportunities. 

Virginia. To the exclusion of your patriotism, perhaps. 
Virginia has little respect, Mr. Francis, for the man who 
turns a deaf ear to her call for help. 

Ralph. The fact that I'm not wearing a uniform is not 
sufficient proof of my lack of patriotism. 

Virginia. The subject is not worthy the discussion. If 
that is all — {turns as if to go.) 

Ralph. It isn't all. I repeat that I am here to offer you 
whatever help and whatever material assistance I can. 
(Crosses to table.) 

Virginia. Then Mr. Francis, I must acknowledge the 
generosity of the offer. In the name of the family I must 
thank you ; for even if we cannot accept, we are grateful 
for the thought. Will you take my hand? (Comes from be- 
hind table and offers hand.) 

Ralph (rushing to her). Oh, Virginia Virginia! If you 
will only say so, we will go far away and forget this war. 
I'll give you jewels, beautiful things — all that you may 
dream of, all that money can buy. Forget it all. Come! 
Come! (Catches her hands.) 

Virginia (struggling) . Let me go! How dare you? How 
dare you? 

Ralph. I dare do everything — now. Do you suppose I 
came to offer you help with no thought of reward? Would 
I be likely to spend my hard-earned dollars for the relief 
of the southern aristocracy that has looked upon me with 
scorn and treated me with contempt? 

Virginia (freeing herself). Hush! I have only to lift my 
voice and my father would strike you to the earth. Marry 
you? Why, I'd rather die a thousand times. Marry you? 
Life would hold no greater humiliation, no greater disgrace. 
Oh, you've reckoned wrong, Mr. Francis, for to a Virginia 
woman there are some things more precious than money, 
than jewels — and those things are courage, manliness, chiv- 
alry and nobility of soul. (Crosses to back of chair R. 
of C.) 



Till- TllklvM) OI- DKSTl.VV. 51 

IvALrii {siiccrinijly). Privalitiii and despair will drive you 
to me yet. The lover that gave you up so easily is not 
likely to return, and — {iul7-aitccs). 

X'ikciNiA ( fTDinily). Will you j^o? (She f^oints to door. 
Ralph hesitates, then turns and lea:es the room at C. in I'. 
\'iiu;iNiA si)i/cs into the ehair R. of C, f^uts her head on 
her arms.) 

linter Madgk, C. in F. She stands lookin(j after Rai.tii. 

Madge (rushini^ to Xikciima). X'iri^iiiia, what has tint 
man heen sayinj^ to you? 1 low dare he come here — how 
dare he? (Seats herself on ri(/ht arm of ehair.) 

X'lkr.ixiA. Madc^e. isn't it enou.u:h that we women should 
endure liar(lshii)s without sufferini:^ tiie humiliation of in- 
sult? 

MADtE. What did he say? 

\''iRGiNiA. lie came with the ofTer of \\c\\) for us in our 
extremity — 

Madge. And in return? 

Virginia. lie asked for — me. 

Madge (risiiu/). X'irginia, today we moved out of the 
big house into the overseer's cottage — the only thing that 
is left to us. (Goes to chair L. 2 E.) 

Virginia. Madge — 

Madge (seating herself). It doesn't take long to tell the 
story. Xo one to work the plantation — the loss of every- 
thing — absolute want — and the borrowing of money from 
this man. 

\^irginia. Ah, Madge, why did you do it? 

Madge. Father did it, and since father is gone we are 
helpless. Today the climax came. He moved in — we moved 
out. 

Virginia. Madge — I'm sorry. 

Madge (raising hand). Don't pity me. I don't need it, 
you don't need it — for we're thoroughbreds, both of us, and 
there's something — inside — that makes us rise above it all. 

Virginia. I wish I might, Madge, but sometimes — 

Madge (sympathetieally). I know — I understand. 



52 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Virginia. I've never seen him, Madge, since that day, 
three years ago. I do not even^know if he is living. 

Madge {leaning forward). Listen, Virginia. I saw Pey- 
ton today. 

Virginia (rising). Madge, you're sure — you're sure? 

Madge. Sure ; 'twas only a glance as he rode by, but 
enough to satisfy me. 

Virginia. Oh, Madge, how did he look? How — {moves 
szviftly to Madge.) 

Madge. 'Twas 'only a glance I had. Isn't it enough to 
know that he is here? 

Virginia. He has come back — but why? {Walks to 
hack of cJi^air.) 

Madge. The Union forces are massed at Culpepper and 
destiny has brought him to his native soil. 

Virginia (to herself). The thread of destiny — he said it 
would bring him back to me. 

Madge (turning her head). And what are you going to 
tell him ? 

Virginia. What can I say — but what I said before? 

Madge (rising). Are you sure, Virginia? This war 
should have taught us many things — among them, charity. 
Our foes are noble ones — we must acknowledge it; and if 
the verdict goes against us, I for one shall accept it with 
the belief that whatever is, is best. Oh, Virginia, I want to 
see a peaceful land, I want to be in the midst of a happy 
people — and most of all, I want to live under one flag! 

Virginia. Madge ! 

Madge. Life is too short for useless separation, Virginia. 
Love is too precious to barter for a mistaken duty. Think 
of what I tell you and forget what that man has said to 
you today. For some day retaliation will come, and I ask 
no greater boon than that I may have a part in bringing 
him to destruction and defeat. 

Enter Sally Ann and Laura Lee, C. in F\ They rush 
to Virginia. 

Sally. Virginia, does your father know that Grant is 



Till-: TIIRKAl) Ol- DESTINY. 53 

iiiarchin«,^ toward kicliiiioiul lliat our uk-ii arc massing in 

the Wilderness ? 

X'lKCHNiA (excitedly). Oh, I'll tell him. {li.vit K. U. E.) 
Madge. And I'll be hurrying^ home. {To Laura.) Stay 

with Virt^inia — can't you. p^irls. She needs you. (lixit C. 

in F.) 

Lai'ka (calling/ iiftcr her). We'll stay. Come, Sally Ann. 

{They mount the stairs. Exeunt L. U. E.) 

Enter Colonel (i;/(/ Mrs. Montgomi.kv. A'. U. E. They 
cross slozcly to C. 

Colonel. Just a few moments for farewell, Charlotte; 
but now that they have come, I can think of no last words 
to say. {Dnucs chair R. of C. for her.) 

Mrs. M. {seating herself). Why should we? We have 
lived them all our lives. But, someway, it has never seemed 
so hard to let you go. 

Colonel (at back of chair). Think of the meeting, 
Charlotte — not of the farewell. Think of the furlough that 
is coming to me — the furlough that will mean rest — home 
— and — you! (Puts arju around her shoulder.) 

Mrs. M. (siijhing). Oh, John, life is so full of partings — 

Colonel. That end in meetings, dear — even, as boy and 
girl, we'd say goodbye in the old garden and count the mo- 
ments until we met again. 

Mrs. M. The old garden — the garden of youth. Then 
(tJioughtfully) the flowers were gay and many-colored — 
bright marigolds, sweet mignonette, gorgeous verbena, and 
— sweetest of all, John — lad's love. 

Colonel (softly). The garden of later days had its rose- 
mary of remembrance, dear — its bit of rue, perhaps — 
but we planted the flowers of hope, of love and service, and 
they have comforted us with their bloom and their frag- 
rance. 

Mrs. M. And now, John, when the gaily-colored blos- 
soms have gone, when the sky is dark and threatening, 
when there is rain instead of sunshine, we have — heartease. 

Colonel. Charlotte, some way the courage has gone out 



54 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

of me. I feel old — and stricken. (Crosses and sinks in 
chair R. 2 E.; takes hat from table.) 

Mrs. M, (rising). Never tliat. You are a soldier — Vir- 
ginia's soldier — the man who has always borne the shield 
of honor and the sword of courage. (Crosses and puts hand 
on his shotdder.) 

Colonel (stands and puts arms about her). The shield 
of honor — the sword of courage! You have given them to 
me, Charlotte. You have embodied the truest, the noblest 
and the best that life has had to oifer. Come, let us watch 
the sunset together. (They walk slowly and stand before 
zvindow,) For the last time, perhaps — who knows? Who 
fears? For death cannot conquer love — nor eternity. See 
(he points), the glorious hues have faded into the paler, 
fainter tints — only a suggestion of the former glory. I'll 
carry away the memory of it — and the glow and radiance 
will put new life in me — will help me to say — ^goodbye. 
(Kisses her.) 

Mrs. M. {turning). Goodbye, John. I'll watch from the 
window — and my heart will follow you. (Ascends steps. 
Colonel watches her, then goes out C. in F. Stage clear 
for a few moments, then Laura Lee comes dozvn steps.) 

Laura (crossing to chair R. 2 E. and seating herself). 
I'll sit here for awhile ; maybe I can cheer up a bit. Oh, I'm 
so lonesome — so lonesome — so tired of it all. It seems al- 
most wicked to wish for a little fun, and yet I do. (Rises.) 
Well, I'll light the lamp. I wish it were like Aladdin's lamp 
and I could get my wish just by rubbing it. I believe I'd 
wish for — a man — a real man. (She hastily lights lamp and 
holds it high as — ) 

John enters, C. in F. 

John (coming forward). You? 

Laura. Yes, I ! Why shouldn't it be ? Were you looking 
for — some one else? (Puts lamp on table.) 

John (in a daze). To think — after all these years — it 
should be — you ! 

Laura. I don't see why that is surprising ? Why shouldn't 
it be — myself? 



Till-: rilKI.Al) Ul- DKSTIW. 55 

Joiix. I've come hack! 

La IK A. Come bach! When 1 tli(hi't know you starlech 
{.'Isidc.) Oil, he's crazy — quite crazy. Some poor, lialf- 
starved Yank, 1 reckon. 

h)iiN. \\n\ surely haven't fore^otten ? {Comes nearer.) 

Laura {hastily). No. Oh — a — its just slipped my mind. 

John. That April day — down by the liedi;e — 1 was go- 
ing to war — 

Lalka {aside). It's best to humor them, they say. (lo 
John.) I remember. You looked so brave in your new 
uniform and your new sword. And as you rode away on 
your prancing steed — 

John. That isn't it at all. You've mixed me with some- 
body else. 

Laura. Oh, no, I haven't; Tve just mixed somebody 
else with you. 

John. I wasn't riding. 

Laura (quickly). Then you must have been walking. 
I ahvays did get the cavalry and the infantry confused. 
(Aside.) Oh, I wish he'd go. I'm frightened. {Drazus 
back.) 

John (sorroz^'fully). Why, I've thought of you all these 
years — just as I saw you last. I've dreamed of meeting you 
again, and — now you've forgotten. 

Laura. I can't help it ; really I can't. It — it runs in the 
family. 

John (aside). Oh, I begin to understand. Her mind has 
left her. All this trouble has crazed her brain. Oh, how- 
sad it is. So young, so fair — and so utterly demented! 
(Looks sorro7^'fiilly at her.) 

Laura (aside). Why does he look at me that way? (/;/ 
terror.) I don't know what to do. 

John (aside). I'll try her again. {7^o Laura.) I'm 
John Merivale Morton. 

Laura (politely). Oh, yes; to be sure. I'm certainly 
glad to meet you. (Aside.) I'll try to be calm and natural. 

J(jHN (repeating). John — Merivale — Morton. 

Laura. It'.s — it's a very pretty name. (John "walks to 
L. of stage.) 



TH^r 



56 THETTHREAD OF DESTINY. 

John {aside). No go. Let's see; sometimes a gesture, 
a mere word will bring to the darkened mind a ray of in- 
telligence. (Suddenly.) I'll act it out. (Looks nervously 
around, spies the hassock, brings it near, seats himself on 
it, takes imaginary plate and pretends to eat.) 

Laura (aside, in horror). Oh, he thinks he's an animal. 
They often do ; and I reckon it's better to pretend to un- 
derstand. (Reaches out and pats him on the head.) Nice 
doggie! (Jumps hack.) 

John (jumping up). Great heavens! It's worse than I 
expected ; and yet — and yet she looks intelligent and (ga::es 
steadfastly at her), it seems that she ought to understand. 

Laura (nervously). I think he's going to bite. (John 
zvalks R. of C.) 

John (aside). Maybe she'll remember waving to me. 
( Waves frantically.) 

Laura (zvith relief). Oh, must you go — really? 

Sally Ann appears on landing from L. U. E. 

Laura. I'm sorry you must hurry, but I'm glad you 
could come even for a little while. Goodbye. 

Sally (to herself). It's John Merivaje Morton. (To 
Laura.) Laura, Lee, what are you doing down there with 
■ — that — man ? 

John (gazing up at her). Good gracious! Another? Am 
I seeing double, or — oh, I can't be losing my mind. (Seiz- 
ing Laura.) You're here, aren't you? You're not up there. 
I just thought you were. Didn't I? (Looking up.) Oh, 
you are — 

Sally (descending). Laura Lee, go right up stairs this 
minute. 

Laura (crossing to stairs). Oh, Sally Ann, it's a crazy 
Yank-^and I want to stay. 

Sally (sternly). A crazy Yank! Indeed you shan't stay. 
I'll attend to him. 

Laura (coaxingly). Oh, Sally Ann; please. Even if he 
is crazy, he's a man — and I haven't seen a man for so long. 

Sally (at bottom of stairs). You're not going to see 



TIIK THkKAl) ()!• DESTINY. 57 

liiin now. Don't you ask nic why. 1 have rca.soiis of my 
own. Ouick, now — up stairs! ( Laika ascciuis stairs.) 

Lalka i^lcanituj oi'cr stain^wy). I Mease, Sally Ann — just 
this once. 

Sallv (sternly). Are you j^oinjj? ( fi.vit Lai'ua at L. 
(^ £.) Oh, Jolni Merivale Morton, is it really you? 

John. That's the ({uestion 1 should he asking you. 
Heavens, what a fool I've made of myself. Why didn't you 
tell me you had a twin sister? {Cocs to her.) 

Sally {tossimj her head). In the hrief space allotted to 
our acquaintance, there was no time for family revelations. 
(Crosses to table R. 2 E.) 

John. And you've never told of our meeting? 

Sally. Never. Yoti inferred that I couldn't keep a se- 
cret. I chose to prove that I could. 

John. And you're still my Sally Ann? {Folloi^'s her.) 

Sally. I'm Sally Ann all right. But as yet no personal 
pronoun has been pretixcd to my name. 

John. You haven't forgotten? 

Sally. What a silly question. Just like a man. How 
could I forget? 

John (rapturously). Sally Ann ! 

Sally (quickly). When I had a pin to remind me. 

John. And you've worn it — 

Sally. Every day. 

John (eagerly). You 'wore it — for — me? 

Sally (carelessly). For convenience — mostly. 

John. Sally Ann, I said I'd come back to you. 

Sally. So you did. But men don't always mean what 
they say. (Slyly.) Neither do women. 

John. Didn't you mean what you said to me? 

Sally. I can't remember that I committed myself to 
you in any w-ay. 

John. Your eyes did. (Comes closer. Sally quickly 
crosses to L. 2 E.) 

Sally. I'm not responsible for my eyes. Taking care of 
my tongue keeps me ])usy. (Turns.) Look here. John 
Merivale Morton, you've been so busy asking me questions 



58 THE'THREAD of DESTINY. 

that I haven't had a chance at you. Now what are you 
doing in this particular part of the country? 

John. Doesn't the fact thaf the Union forces are mass- 
ing in Virginia explain my presence? 

Sally. And in this particular house? 

John. Stopped by — to get something to eat. 

Sally (in disgust). Hungry again f Is life nothing to 
you but an eternal quest for food? 

John (seriously). Life — for three years — has been 
nothing but a quest — for you. 

Sally. Prettily said, Yankee Doodle, but rather im- 
practical. 

John. Impractical. Why, Dixie? 

Sally. Because the great quest of your section of the 
country is that of plunder, pillage and devastation. 

John. It's the fortunes of war. (Cj'osses to her.) 

Sally (returning to table at R.). Fortunes of war. 
What a well worn phrase. Like charity, it covers a multi- 
tude of sins. Well, if you reckon you're going to get any- 
thing to eat here, you'll get fooled. 

John. Wait till I ask you for something, you impersona- 
tion of southern hospitality. (Stands back of chair R. 
of C.) 

Sally. This isn't my house and I haven't any right or 
desire to be hospitable. And if you're discovered here 
you'll be about as popular as a rattlesnake. 

John (zvith decision). Well, I'm not going yet. I've 
waited three years to see you — 

Sally. And you're waiting now, I reckon, until you lay 
eyes on some southern officer that may come riding by. 

John (eagerly). Is there likely to be one here, Sally 
Ann — in this house? 

Sally (tauntingly). Getting scared, aren't you? Well, 
he'll make you see stars. 

John (advancing to table) . Stars — and stripes. It's what 
every good soldier of Uncle Sam sees — always, Sally Ann. 
(Takes small U. S. flag from pocket.) 

Sally. Stars and bars. It's what every soldier of Dixie 



Till-: Tllkl-.AI) Ol DKSTI.VN. 59 

sees — always — Jolm Mcrivalc Mnrioii. {Ccts Confederate 
flaij from nmiitcl. ) 

John (ijaciiui ot fhuj). TIk- stars and stripes! Tlic red 
of couraj^c; the white of purity; tlie hlue of hjyaUy. 

Sally ((j/ cluiir R. 2 Ji.). rhc stars aiul bar's— the Hajj 
of our Confederacy. It tells of a love that is courageous; 
a struggle that defies hardshij) ; a sj)irit thai coiujuers even 
defeat. 

JoiiiN. And under your folds, (jh, red. white and hlue, 
there toils the mighty warrior in whose hands there lies the 
destiny of our nation. Sleepless, tireless, watchful, indom- 
itable, great of soul, boundless in pity, idol of every sol- 
dier's heart — Ulysses S. Grant. 

Sally. And 'neath your ripples, oh flag of mine, there 
stands the hero of every loyal southerner. Dauntless in 
misfortune, noble in success, we place him on the pedestal 
of our faith, our loyalty, and our truest devotion — Robert 
E. Lee. 

John {takimj her hand). Dear little southern girl, some 
day we'll stand together under one flag, and on that day 
there will be no North, no South, but the I'nion ! 

Sally {dropping in chair R. 2 £.). Oh, do you think so, 
John Merivale Morton? Do you really think so? I'm so 
tired — so tired. (Sounds of footsteps off stage.) Hush! 
You must go. It i,sn't safe ; it isn't. Oh, just to please me. 
Hurry! Hurry! (Rises and pushes him tozcard door C. 
in F.) 

John (eagerly). But I'll see you again? 

Sally. Yes; oh, yes. (Still pushes him.) 

John (turning). Tomorrow? 

Sally. Tomorrow. (Exit John C. in F. Sally closes 
door after him.) 

Laura Lee appears on landing, R. U. E. 

Laura. Has he gone? 

Sally. Well, I reckon he has. I settled him all right. 
Laura. Well, it took you a mighty long time to do it. 
Sally (ascending stairs). It takes time to do things 
thoroughly. (Exeunt Smiv mid Laira, /?. U. E.) 



^^^ 



60 THR THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Enter Virginia, who goes to chair at R. 2 E.; Edith, 
who seats herself R. of C.; Betty, zvho crosses to L. 2 E. 
and seats herself. • 

Betty {sighing). I just know that if all the bandages 
I've made were sewed together, it would reach from the 
North to the South pole. 

Edith. You ought to be proud of that feat. It isn't 
everybody that can encircle the globe so easily. 

Betty. Well, just to be sure, Ell make some more. {All 
sew in silence.) 

Virginia. I'm nervous tonight. I can't sew. I feel as if 
something were about to happen. {Puts zvork basket on 
table.) 

Edith {soberly). There are few days now, Virginia, in 
which something does not happen. {Silence for a few min- 
utes, zvhistle sounds off stage.) 

Virginia {rising). Beverly! Lower the light, Betty. 
(Betty obeys. Whistle is repeated. Mrs. Montgomery 
descends the steps from R. U. E. Virginia opens door.) 

Enter Beverly, C. in F. Mrs. Montgomery rushes to 
him and embraces him. Virginia closes door. 

Mrs. M. Beverly! My boy — my boy! Oh, you're 
wounded ! 

Beverly. Nothing but a scratch, mother. I'm lucky to 
get off so well. The woods are full of Yanks and they've 
done their best to pepper me. {Staggers to chair at L. 2 E. 
Mrs. Montgomery clings to him and stands back of chair. 
Virginia brings hassock and sits before him.) 

Edith {hastening to him). Beverly, you're faint — 
you're — {stands R. of Beverly.) 

Beverly {zvearily). Tired, Edith, oh so tired. If I could 
only sleep again. If I could wake to find the sunshine in 
my room and to feel the breeze in my face. (Betty brings 
a glass of zvine to him.) Sometimes I dream of it. {He 
drinks.) Thanks, little sister. (Betty puts glass on table 
and stands there.) I'm better now; I really am; and I need 
my strength tonight more than I've ever needed it before. 
I've ridden since yesterday morning and I must reach the 



THE TIIKKAU Ul- UESTIXV. 61 

southern lines. I must. Every crossroad is watched ; but 
I'm j;t)inj:: to j.,'ct ihrouj^h — and you've ^^ot to lielp me! 

Mrs. M. Ik'verly, arc conditions so lioi)eless — so — 

Bevkklv. luerytliin^ is desperate — desperate. We have 
only our pride, our spirit and our bravery to keep us up. 
Oh, when I see the heroism of those half-starved fellows, 
I thank God that I am a southern man. And even were I 
to despair — to falter — 1 have oidy to look at that pathetic 
figfure in the liu^ht of the camptire — that sleepless, intrepid 
hero that sntTers in silence. (With ctnotioii.) Oh, mother, 
I could die for Lee! 

\^IRC.INI.\ {holduui his huud). Rest — just for a moment, 
Beverly. You'll be all the better. We'll watch— we'll— 

Bevkrlv. Rest? I can't. There's a ^^1nkee scout behind 
me. lie's almost liere, anil T know that he is the bearer of 
important messa<;es to drant. I nuist have these dispatches. 
I must have them. Ho you hear? {Tiiniiug.) Edith, 
you're clever, you're (juick. I'm puttin^e^ my hope in you. 
Will you do it? 

Edith {turning aside). I can't, Beverly — I can't. It's 
treachery to my country. You don't know what you're 
asking. 

Bexkrlv. Oh, but I do know, and I'm askinj^ you to 
make this sacritice — for me. Edith — for me. (Pleadingly.) 
Help me. 

Edith. Oh, Ell try; Ell try. 

Bkverlv (raising his hand). Listen! Do you hear? He's 
coming. Don't let him ride by. (Rises.) I'll trust you, 
Edith. Ell trust you. (Mrs. Mcv^'tgomerv dratcs him 
away.) Yes, mother. Which way? (Mrs. Moxtc.omerv. 
Betty, Virgini.\ and Beverly aseend stairs. Exeunt L. 
U. E. Knoeking at door C. in F.) 

Edith {at door). Who is there? 

Scout (outside). A Union soldier, who asks for a chance 
to rest himself and beast. 

Edith. A Union soldier! Then I make you thrice wel- 
come. (Opens door.) 

Scout (on doorstep). I hardly understand the welcome. 



62 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

It is not customary for a southern home even of reputed 
hospitality to throw open its doors to me. 

Edith. But every southern home does not harbor a 
northern girl. 

Scout. You mean (leans forivard). 

Edith. That I am for your cause, heart and soul. 

Scout. Whose home is this? (Enters.) 

Edith. My uncle's — Colonel Montgomery. (He looks 
cautiously around.) Don't be alarmed. We're alone. 
(Closes door.) 

Scout (at C). It is a hot-bed of rebellion. 

Edith (standing R. of him). Oh, it is — it is. Haven't 
I told you? Won't you believe me? Why, I cannot express 
how fearfully I've suffered under their taunts, their insin- 
uations. 

Scout. There's a son — (Beverly appears from L. U. 
E. an landing of stairs.) 

Edith. Yes, Beverly, the cleverest scout on the southern 
side. 

Scout. There is a price on his head that most of us 
would risk a great deal to gain. (Sternly). I'll test that 
statement of your loyalty to the North. Has this son been 
here lately? 

Edith. I'll prove the statement of the loyalty you doubt. 
He has. 

Scout. When ? 

Edith. Today — not two hours ago. 

Scout. Which way did he go? 

Edith (crossing to zvindozv). Down by the crossroads — 
across the river and directly east. 

Scout (coming close to her). You're telling me the 
truth? 

Edith. I'm telling you the truth. 

Scout. Could I catch him. (Draws revolver.) 

Edith. Not unless he has been in some way delayed. 
Put down your ugly toy and tell me — what I want to know. 
(Advances to table dozvn R.) 

Scout (follozuing). What do you want to know? (Lays 
down revolver on table and seizes her hands.) Heavens,; 



THI-: THkl-AU Ol- UIiSTINV. 63 

but it's livini^ again, to forget war and to liold tlic liands 
of a pretty girl. 

Kdith {lirmcifK; azi'ijy her liauds). Tell me of our 
cause. 

Scout. The war is almost over. \Vc are steadily closing 
about the rebs, and after \''irginia is battered down the 
day is ours. {Lcmis on talkie; I^ditii rests on arm of 
chair.) 

Edith (oithnsiastically). Oh. I'm proud to be a part 
of it all. I'm grateful that fale threw yt>u my way tonight. 

Scout. I should be riding on. 

Edith. And why? 

Scout. They are waiting for me at headciuarters. 

I^DiTH. You must be very clever and brave, and, oh, I 
can well believe that they put all confidence in you. {Looks 
admiringly at hiin.) 

Scout {consciously). They do. My mission tonight 
proves it. 

Edith. Is it wrong to tell me what it is? {Leans foricard 
and smiles at him.) 

Scout {taking paper from pocket). Look, little north- 
ern lady. Can you realize that this paper is to play a very 
important part in the Virginia campaign ? 

Edith {standing). Oh, a dispatch — a real dispatch. Oh, 
how wonderful you are! May 1 see it? {Lie hands her the 
paper. She drops her handkerchief. As he stoops to pick 
it lip she seizes the revolver.) Stand just wdiere you are. 
With your permission, I'll keep this as a souvenir of our 
tirst, and, I trust, our last meeting. 

Scout {zvildly). You're a spy! {Moves tozvard her.) 

Edith. Stop! I can shoot perfectly well and my bullet 
usually reaches the spot for which I aim. 

Scout. You give me the paper. You give it to me now, 
or, by heaven, you'll never live to give it to anyone else. 
{Struggles with her.) 

Bevkklv {leveling revolver). Stop — this instant! (Scout 
turns.) And thank your lucky stars that I did not send a 
bullet through you. Here in Virginia we kill a man for 
laying a finger on a woman. (Scout starts toii'ard him.) 



64 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Don't resist. It's no use. There's a squad of gray-coated 
men outside that are waiting fpr my signal. (Descending.) 
Take your Hfe as a present from a Johnny Reb. Tell them 
at headquarters that you lost your dispatches. And ride 
now as if the devil were after you. Go, I say, or I shoot. 
(They cover him zvith their revolvers. Edith follows him 
outside door C. in F.) 

Edith (entering). He's gone. 

Beverly. Oh, Edith, you couldn't have done it unless 
you had cared — a little. (Takes her in his arms.) 

Edith. Cared a httle? I say it, and I'm proud to say it, 
that I could have done it only for the man I love. (Knock- 
ing at C. in F. Mrs. Montgomery and Virginia rush 
down the stairs from R. U. E. Beverly and Edith ascend 
stairs. Exeunt L. U. E.) 

Virginia. I'll go, mother. (Opens door, revealing Pey- 
ton on the threshold.) Peyton! 

Peyton. Virginia, oh Virginia! (Speaking to those out- 
side.) Guard the house. I'll search within. 

Enters Peyton. 

Mrs. M. (advancing). Peyton, what does this mean? 

Peyton. Word has come to headquarters that a Con- 
federate soldier is in the house and I have been ordered to 
search it. If you give me your word that there is no 
reason for my presence here, not a man shall cross the 
threshold. 

Mrs. M. And if I refuse? 

Peyton. Then I must force my entrance. 

Virginia (scornfully). And this is the way you come 
back to us — after three years? Pray when did your north- 
ern commanders . decree war uppn women? 

Peyton. Never, I hope — never. Oh, you know I'm do- 
ing my duty. These hard years must have shown you that 
military discipline forces us to repress many things that 
we long to do. 

Mrs. M. I understand. You are free to make the search. 
(Comes to chair R. 2 E.) 

Virginia. Mother, how can you? (Advances.) Stop! 



THK TIlkKAL) 0|- UKSTIN'V. 65 

Vou are )iot free lo make the ^eareli. N'ou iiorilierners 
are not masters yet. I yield to no forei|;n autliority under 
my roof. {Ihirs his f^assayc to staim'ay.) 

Peyton. Then, as much as I rej^ret to say it, 1 am forced 
to make my investijjjatinns without your permission. {To 
Mrs. Montgomery.) Ihe downsta'irs first, Mrs. Mont- 
i^omery ? 

Mrs. M. 'Hie downstairs first. { li.vit Peyton. R. U. E. 
Hi:vERLY appears L. U. Ji.. makes his 'icay cjuictly dozen 
the steps z<'hen Peyton reappears at R. U.'li.) 

Peyton [leieliiuj revolver). Halt! NOu are my prisoner. 
{As he reeoynizes him.) Beverly! 

Beverly. Peyton! (Mrs. Montgo.mkry starts forward, 
X'irginia stands at stairway.) 

Peyton. After all these years, to meet you liere, in this 
way. {Bitterly.) Fate mi^ht have spared me this. 

Beverly. Fate isn't particular ahout the blows she deals 
us. Peyton. Pve found that out. You've cau<;ht me fairly, 
and 1 give myself up without resistance. 

Mrs. M. {laying hand on Peyton's arm). Peyton, you 
won't — you caiv t ! {Crosses to Beverly.) 

Beverly {putting arms about her). Mother, not a word. 
My personal safety is not to be weighed against Peyton's 
honor as a soldier. 

Peyton. Beverly, your scout work has done much harm 
to our cause. Do you realize the consequences of your 
capture? 

Beverly. Absolutely, and Pm ready, old fellow. 

Peyton. For three years Pve never gone on the battle- 
field without the dread of meeting you ; but I would rather 
have come face to face with you than to know that I must 
hand my best friend over to — uncertainty. 

Beverly. Put aside the idea of our friendship, Peyton. 
Vou know that Pm surer of that than of anything in the 
world. Now we are but tw'o men, each with a different 
cause, and your cause demands the sacrifice of your per- 
sonal feelings. As I said before, Pm ready. 

Peyton {advancing to door C. in F.. opening it and 
speaking off stage). Sergeant, will you take the men to 



^?^ 



66 TFrP* THREAD OF DESTINE. 

the front door of the house and guard it closely? If there 
is a soldier hidden here he may attempt to escape by that 
way. This is the only door om this side, and I'm watching 
it. (Returns to Beverly after closing door.) 

Beverly (eagerly). Peyton, what do you mean? 

Peyton. Beverly, where is your horse? 

Beverly. Down in the hollow. 

Peyton. Listen. There is a guard at the bridge. Cross at 
the shallow place farther down. Once over, keep off the 
road. (To Mrs. Montgomery.) Since my search in one 
room was unsatisfactory, Mrs. Montgomery, with your 
permission I'll try another. 

Mrs. M. (taking his hand). Peyton, I cannot tell you 
what this means to me — how I love you for it. 

Peyton. Oh, did you think I could, sever all the ties of 
the past? (To Beverly.) Why, Beverly, I'd rather die a 
thousand times than to be the means of your capture — 
and death. I'd rather risk the name of traitor to my cause 
than to be false to my friendship. War has taken many 
things that will never come back to me. It has given me 
much that I needed to make a man of me. But it shall 
never force me to betray my friend. 

Beverly (zvith emotion). Peyton! (They clasp hands. 
Exit Peyton, L. 2 E.) I'll fire three shots when I'm over 
the river. And I'll come back, mother. I'll come back. 
(Hastily kisses his mother and Virginia and goes out door 
C. in F. Virginia closes door.) 

Mrs.- M. Virginia, sometimes pride is a stumbling block. 
At the beginning of the war we were all impulsive. Many 
things of small import seemed great to us. But in these 
crises of suffering and death we have learned that all that 
endures, all that is worth while, is — love. Ponder on what 
I've said, dear, and do what you think best. (Ascends stairs. 
Exit L. U. E.) 

Enter Ralph from door at C. in F. and stands in back- 
ground, unseen by Virginia. Enter Peyton from L. 2 E. 
Three shots are fired off stage. 

Virginia (clasping her hands). Oh, he's across. Pey- 



rill". TIIKi:\l) ()!• DKSTI.VN-. 07 

ton, IVvlon. \vc can never lliank you cnoup;l> for this. 
{Comes to him as he stands at L. 2 II.) 

Pkvton. I (lun'l want your thanks, Virginia. I i^jnorcd 
tiic duty to my country and allowed Ik'vcrly to escape — 
not for you. but because he is my friend. 

X'iKGiNiA. Will you take my hand and try to understand? 
{Holds out hand.) 

Pkvton. Do you realize that I'm .siiil a northern soldier 
— your enemy? 

\'rKc;iNi.\. Sometimes miracles happen in a moment. 
Often we realize in a Hash ibal we've been stubborn, and 
proud, and, oh, so blind. 

Pkvton {takunj hand). Dear, don't think you must 
humble yourself in this way because I've done this service 
to your brother. 

\'iRciNL\. Humble myself? 1 have exaltetl myself, for a 
wonderful knowledj^e has come to me suddenly. {Clings 
to him.) Oh, it's been such a long, bitter time — the suffer- 
ing, tlie wailing, the anxiety. Pm not strong enough to go 
through it again without you, Peyton. 

Pevtun. But I haven't changed, X'irginia. Pni ^lill Inyal 
to my cause. 

ViKGiNL\. And I am still true to my South. 

Pevton. Then you can — forget? 

Virginia. I can forget. I have forgotten. For as we 
stand here together, the fighting, the struggle seem very 
far away, and there is no one in the wiile world, Peyton, 
but you. 

Pevton {taking her in his arms). Oh, Virginia, Vir- 
ginia! Life is very sweet again. All the sweeter for the 
bitterness. And just as we have learned our lesson, this 
nation of ours will be the better and greater for its strug- 
gle. Destiny has brought me back to you, dear; just as I 
said it would. {Pause. Ralimi laughs. Peyton turns sud- 
denly and lifts his revolver.) How dare you? 

Rali'II {advancing). \\\\. up your weapon. I came here 
on business — with Miss Montgomery. Evidently my knock 
was not heard. 

Virginia. Will you go, l\\vton ? 1 a^k it a^ a favor. 



^t; 



68 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Peyton. Virginia, what right has this fellow to force 
himself upon you? 

Virginia. None whateve'r. It's business — only business ■ 
— and you'll go? (Pushes him to door.) 

Peyton. I'll go. {Turning at door C. in F.) Good- 
night, Virginia. 

Virginia. Good night, Peyton. {Exit Peyton, C. in P., 
closing door after him.) 

Ralph (sneering). Quite like a melodrama, isn't it? 
Sorrowing heroine is comforted by dusty hero — arriving 
in nick of time. Wedding march — orange blossoms — and 
they lived happily ever after. (Laughs.) 

Virginia. This is insufferable. A base advantage to 
take of a girl whose father and brother are not here to 
protect her. 

Ralph. You need no protection. All you need to do is 
— to name the day. (Seats himself in chair R. of C.) 

Virginia. I bid you goodnight, Mr. Francis. (Starts to 
ascend stairs.) 

Ralph (rising). Not yet, fair lady. Not yet. Listen to 
me. (Virginia shakes head.) Oh, yes, you will. Didn't I 
tell you that the game was not over? 

Virginia (quickly). What do you mean? 

Ralph. Peyton Bailey was here tonight to capture a 
Confederate soldier. The Confederate soldier proved to be 
your brother — and he was allowed to escape. 

Virginia. Well. 

Ralph. I alone heard Peyton say that he ignored the 
duty to his country. I alone saw Beverly go. Do you know 
how the army punishes such carelessness? (Pauses.) By 
death ! 

Virginia. You wouldn't dare — 

Ralph. Oh, wouldn't I? I dare anything to win you. 
And if I can't do it by fair means, Pll do it by foul. Do 
you understand my meaning? 

Virginia (proudly). I do not. 

Ralph (threateningly) . Then listen. Unless I have your 
promise to marry me, I shall immediately inform headquar- 
ters of the little drama that was played here tonight. You 



Tllb: Tllkl-..\i) ui- Ul-M l.\\. 69 

are the only one wlio can save your lover from something 
worse tlian death — (hsj^race, 

X'iKGiNiA {bcsccchimjly). Oh, you wouKhi't do it, Mr. 
I'rancis — you wouldn't. Think of all we've suffered — of 
Peyton's love for Beverly — oh, he couldn't betray him. Oh, 
I bef^ you to be generous. I'll do anything for you. (Lays 
Jiand on his arm.) 

R.\Lrii [ijnickly). Oh, will you? Then marry me. 

\'IRG1NIA {flinch'uui). Oh, I cannot — I cannot — any- 
thing but that. Is there no other way? 

R.xLiMi. There is no other way. (X'ikc.inia hesitates, 
goes toward R.) 

X'iRGiNiA i^to herself). Oh, Peyton! Peyton! And I 
thought we were to be so happy! {Pause.) 1 will marry 
you, Mr. Francis. {He starts to speak.) No, not a word. 
Go! (R.\Li'ii hesitates and leaves the room at C. in P. 
\'iRr.iNiv seats herself R. of C, stai^e is quiet for a fr-u' 
minutes. Tlie)i a roiee is heard off stage.) 

\'oiCE. The Colonel fell. They're bringing him home. 

\'iRGiNiA {screami)i(j). Oh, oh! {Rushes out.) 

Mrs. Montgomery enters at L. U. P., descends stair 
and comes sloTvly to center stage; stands there motionless. 
Pnter Uncle Billy at C. in P. tciV/i Colonel's sivord. 

Billy (handi)i(j her the sicord). Marse John — he done 
got he furlough. {She tahes s'l^'ord and boics her head 
upon it.) 

Curtain. 



70 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 



Acf III 

Scene : Yard of the Montgomery home. Full stage; 
landscape drop. Set trees down R. and L. Entrances R. U. 
E., R. 2 E., L. U. E., L. 2 E. Rope siving R. of C. Stump 
of tree R. 2 E. Bench L. 2 E. 

[If practicable there may he a porch down L., zvith steps. 
In this case the entrance R. 2 E. becomes a practical door, 
although R. U. E. remains an entrance.] 

At rise stage is zvell illumined, since it is afternoon. Dis- 
covered, Betty, in swing, shelling peas. 

Betty (calling). Mammy! 

Mammy (off stage). What you wan', honey? 

Betty. Will one pan of peas be enough? 

Mammy (off stage). I reckon 'twill ef no uns'pected 
company comes stragglin' in. 

Betty. Company? Why, Mammy, you know that we 
haven't had company for oh, ever so long. 

Mammy (appearing L. 2 E.). Mebbe not fusted quality 
folks, but ef dis ain't a restin' place foh ebery Tom, Dick 
an' Harry dat comes down de pike, den my name ain't 
Dinah. Hand 'em hyar, honey. 

Enter Tom, R. U. E. 

Mammy. Well ef dar ain't Marse Tom. 

Tom (at R. U. E.). May I come in for awhile? 

Betty (turning her head). Oh, Tommy, Tommy! How 
you have changed ! Three years ago you never would have 
said that — you would have come in of your own accord. 
(Exit Mammy L. 2 E.). 

Tom (corning dozvn R.). But that was three years ago, 
Betty, and going through purgatory sort of takes the starch 
out of a fellow. Do you mean to say that I was once 
young enough and festive enough to gambol o'er this 
green? I don't believe you. (Sits on stump.) 

Betty. Think very hard now. Don't ghosts of all the 
maids you flirted with rise up and jog your memory? 



TIIH TllkKAD OK DESTIXV. 71 

Tom. Kvcn such a memory as that may pruvc false 
wlicii one is rtirtiii|^ with (icath. 

Betty (siyliiiKj). Don't, Tom— don't. 

Tom. And you mean to tell n>e that I once ate fried 
hickcn. hot hiscuils and hlackherry jam? Cio Monjj, Betty. 
Why, many's the lime I've wept my eyes uut for a hunk of 
hard tack. 

Bettv. Poor old Tom — 

Tom. Sometime in the prehistoric ages I may have had 
more than one suit of clothes and one shirt, but 1 doubt 
it. As to dancing, I've just been one of the many, Betty, 
who have shaken their feet in this awful dance of death. 

Bettv. And you're going back to it all? 

Tom. Going back as soon as I can. I used to say I'd re- 
turn a brigadier general, didn't I ? Instead I U)\\ back in 
an ambulance with no honorable wt)un(ls to (lisi)lay ; no 
mutilated stumj) to wave; only a disgusting and uninter- 
esting attack of fever. Hard luck! {Siglis.) 

Betty. The war isn't over yet. Maybe you'll have some 
thrilling encounter that will emblazon your name on the 
roll of fame. 

Tom. Xoihing like that coming my way. I reckon the 
Lord is depriving me of all emoknnents of glory because 
lie knows I'm a dissipated character and not fit even to run 
the risk of dying. 

Bettv {laughing). That sounds like the old Tom. 

Enter Ma.mmv, L. 2 E. 

Mammy. Honey, s'posin' you take Marse Tom into de 
garden, an' atter awhile I'll fetch you somethin' nice an' 
cool to drink. 

Betty (rising). J^hall we, Tom? (Sadly.) Tho' it's not 
the old garden in which you used to frolic with your reti- 
nue of girls. (Ihnids pan of peas to Mam. my.) 

Tom (rising). Girls — girls. Where are the girls of yes- 
terday? 

Betty. Oh, Tom, I can answer that question only by 
mother. Where are the boys that used to be? 

Tom (taking her hands). Some day we'll all come back 



n THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

to each other, Betty. Some day, when the smoke of battle 
clears away. Think of the tyne we've lost and the fun 
we've forfeited. {To Mammy.) Mammy, hurry up with 
your nice cool drink, fo/ we're going to toast the piping 
times of peace, Betty — the piping times of peace. {Exeunt 
Tom and Betty, R, 2 E.) 

Mammy (walking to R. U. E.). Praise de Lawd — dat 
de fust real laugh dat chile gib since Marse John went 
away. Mebbe de good times comin' arter all. (Peers out.) 
Huh ! Ef dar ain't dat Miss Melissy trailin' 'long de pike. 
An' hyar I jes' sayin' dat mebbe de good times am comin'. 

Enter Miss Melissy, R. U. E. 

Melissy. Good morning, Dinah. 

Mammy. Mawnin'. (Hurries to bench at L. 2 E., fol- 
lozved by Miss Melissy.) 

Melissy. I'm fairly reveling in the charms of nature, 
Dinah. (Holds out flower.) Who says spring isn't here? 

Mammy. Ain't heerd nobody say 'tain't. (Seats herself 
on bench L. 2 E.) 

Melissy (clasping her hands). Such a day to meditate 
— to dream- — ■ 

Mammy. Folks what got wu'k to do ain't got no busi- 
ness dreamin' an' meditatin'. 

Melissy. I'll sit here by you, Dinah (Mammy moves 
reluctantly) , for since Uncle Sam has freed you colored 
people you're just as good as anybody else. (Seats herself.) 

Mammy. Dinah jes the same as she always been. 'Man- 
cipation proklimation or no 'mancipation proklimation. 
(Shells peas vigorously.) 

Melissy. Why don't you go up north, Dinah — you and 
Billy — now that the Colonel's gone — 

Mammy. Go up north — leave Mis' Charlotte? Miss Me- 
lissy, yo' doan un'erstan' de niggers ; an' ef yo' say much 
mo' I ain't 'sponsible for bein' disrespeckful. (Turns her 
back.) 

Melissy. There, now. I didn't mean to vex you. Re- 
ally, it seems these days one can't find a safe subject to 
talk about. You Southerners are so touchy. 



THE TlIKl-Al) OF Dl-STIXV. 73 

Mammy. Dar's one j^uhjcck wc doatr mind— dc weather. 
Go on an' talk sonic mo' 'hont de sj)rin^ bein' liyar an' — 
(Mrs. Moxtciomkry hcliimi semes sinys n verse of "The 
Boiniie Blue I'lai^," or some other Southern soitii^.) 

Mklissv. Wlio is that ? ( I'urns her heud.) 

Mammy. W liy (hit' Mis' ChaHottc. 

Mklissy. And the Colonel dead harcly two months. It 
doesn't seem (jnitc decent. (Shakes her head aud si(/hs.) 

Mam.my {tnniiiKj). Dc Colonel — dead! Dar ain' no sich 
word, Miss Mclissy. Marse John not j^one 'way. He wid 
ns ebery time we t'ink oh him. Dc ft)lks wc luh nehher 
die — dey jes lib on — an' on in onr hearts. 

Mklissy. Mercy, how spooky you are. It makes me 
shiver. {S hirers.) 

Mam.my. Den yo' bes' be movin' on. Dinah ain't ^ot no 
time to be talkin' no way. 

Melissy. You're kept pretty busy now, aren't you? It 
must be a great trial to all the Montgomerys to have that 
wounded Yank to care for. 

Mam.my. I notice none oh de Yanks wanter take 'im. 

Melissy. Ry that, Dinah. T suppose you mean me. 
(Coquettishly.) Well, I didn't care to run the risk of the 
man falling in love with me. Wounded soldiers are so 
susceptible and it might have caused all kinds of trouble. 

Mammy. Trouble fo' him, dat's sho'. You needn't a- 
worried 'bout Marse John. He got de eye fo' de thor- 
oughbreds, he has. (Laughs insiuiiatiugly.) 

Melissy. Mr. Beverly is home on a furlough,, isn't he? 
Well, I should think it's about time to s.top his wild per- 
formances and settle down with his mother. {No aus7s.'er 
from Mam.my.) Betty's losing out on looks, isn't she? 
'Tisn't likely she'll ever marry now. (Siletiee as Mammy 
slings peas 7'ieiously into pan.) F.verybody's talking of 
course about Virginia's engaging herself to that Ralph 
Francis. There was a time when the Montgomery's 
wouldn't look at him. But no7i\ (Smiles.) Well, money 
does help, of course, and this plantation is pretty well run 
down at the heels. They do say, too. that young Bailey 
jilted her mighty soon after she behaved so ridiculously- 



74 the: thread of destiny. 

just because he went into the Union army. (Silence as 
Mammy sits with clenched hands.) I've always said that 
this Southern aristocracy business is a little far-fetched 
and overdone. {Silence as Mammy turns and glowers at 
her.) Give me the northern common sense and democratic 
spirit — the desire to arise, to forge ahead — 

Mammy (rising and speaking furiously) . Dat jes' what 
I wan' yo' to do — rise an' fo'ge ahead — and keep on fo'gin' 
till you git plumb out o' sight. I'se a Montgome'y, I is, an' 
de Montgome'ys is blue blood ; but I reckon de Lawd'U 
fergive me dis once ef I bust de laws of hospitality an' 
start yo' goin'. Go on now, you meddlin' pervaricatin' ole 
maid — yo' — 

Melissy (rising). How dare you talk to me that way? 
How dare you? Emancipation proclamation indeed! I am 
sorry it's been issued. I wish we were back in the times of 
slavery — good hard slavery, too — for what you need is a 
hundred lashes, you impudent black creature. Boast of 
your high and mighty Montgomerys if you wish ; but mark 
my words, their downfall isn't far off. You may think that 
Viriginia's marriage will bring dollars into your empty 
pocketbook, but there's many a slip, and that pretty little 
Kentucky girl seems to have no trouble in holding Ralph 
Francis. (Laughs.) Won't it be a fine story for the public 
if the fair Virginia is jilted by two lovers? (Sneeringly.) 
Blue blood indeed ! It loses a little of its color when asso- 
ciated with the white feather. Good morning! (Exit R. 
U. E. Mammy stands looking after her, then shrugs her 
shoulders and leaves the stage L. 2 E.) 

Enter Ralph and Louise, R. U. E. They come slowly 
down C. 

Louise (looking around). The estate begins to show the 
ravages of neglect and poverty. Too bad that destruction 
must be a part of war. 

Ralph. All will be repaired upon my marriage to 
Miss Montgomery. I've always desired this plantation, 
always longed to have the management of it. The dream 
together with other ambitions is about to be realized. 



THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 75 

Lorisi-: {stiiiiJiiiy at front of stayc). If afTairs pass into 
your liantls, success is assured. Vou seem to have tlie 
Midas touch wlieii business mailers are at stake. 

Ralimi {by her). I've been successful. I've liad many 
ihing^s to goad me on. 

Louise. And you've — won? 

R.MJMi. I've won, over oilier people's failures. 

Lorisi:. This war has surely given you ample c)i)p()rlu- 
nity to increase your wealth. 

Iv.ALi'ii. Undoubtedly. ( )ne cannot have to do with the 
fmancial side without either sinking or swimming. 

LorisR. And this financial side? 

R.\LiMi. Has meant the intimate knowledge of the re- 
sources — and works of the South. 

LoL'iSK. Together with your sympathy for tliat section 
of the country ? 

Ralimi. Not necessarily. I am not a Southerner by birth, 
nor has the South been so indulgent as to claim my allegi- 
ance. (Suddenly.) What is it, Miss Lawton ? I am too 
shrewd a man not to know that you are seeking — informa- 
tion, shall I say? 

LouiSK. And T am too shrewd a woman to deny the 
statement. I am being frank with you : and I would not 
be frank if I were not fairly sure of you as a man. Mr. 
Francis, I am in the employment of the federal government. 

Rali'II {noddiuij). I thought as nnich. What will you 
have of me? 

LouiSK. Certain facts. 

Ralph. And if I give them? 

Louise. SuOicient remuneration. 

Ralph. Well, then, first — 

Louise (in loi^'crcd tone). 1 lave you an idea of tiie 
supplies, the ammunition, the general condition of the Con- 
federate army here in X'irginia between the Wilderness 
and the city of Petersburg? 

Ralph . I have. 

Louise. Have you definite knowledge in regard to the 
city of Petersburg — its various , approaches, its vantage 
grounds for attack ? 



^fe 



Id THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Ralph. I lived there three years. 

Louise {impatiently). You do not answer my question. 

Ralph. Well, then, I have. 

Louise. Thank you. Next, for what sum will you give 
this information to me? 

Ralph. I must have time to consider. 

Louise. Grant is marching on towards Petersburg; the 
time for consideration is brief. 

Ralph. It is treachery to those with whom I am asso- 
ciated. 

Louise (smiling). Treachery? For some people — not for 
you. Scruples at which others hesitate are not in your phi- 
losophy. 

Ralph (shaking his head). It's too great a risk. I'll not 
do it. 

Louise (touching his arm). Money is the only thing that 
may win Miss Montgomery ; without it you have no chance, 
with it — well, what woman can withstand the lure of 
beautiful things? 

Ralph (yielding). I must have time. 

Louise. I'm waiting. 

Ralph (after a pause). I'll do what you ask. 

Louise. Very well. Later on I'll meet you — (ponders) 
well, here. 'Twill be safer. You will bring me a plan of 
Petersburg, its fortifications, its works, also the statistics 
I asked for. I'll give you a sum which we may agree upon 
in payment for — your scruples, we'll say. (Exeunt Ralph 
and Louise, R. U. E.) 

Enter Uncle Billy, L. U. E., pushing John in a 
wheeled chair. Comes down C. 

- John. Slow, now. If you happen to injure my other 
knee, I'll be on your hands another month. Isn't this sun- 
shine bully? There's nothing up north that can touch it. 
Thanks, Uncle Billy. You've been pretty good to this 
Yank, and he isn't going to forget it. (Holds out hand.) 

Billy (shaking John's hand awkwardly). Pshaw, 
Marse John, yo' can't help bein' a Yank. Anyway yo* 
reckon we let yo' die? Dat ain't like we-uns. Hyar yo' 



nil-: niui-AL) oi' destiny. n 

iM.ok. {Hands book.) Take a snooze in dis sunshiiu*, an' 
.illcr a while I conie hack fo' yo'. (/i.r/7 L. U. Ji.) 

liiitcr Sally Ann. A*. 2 li., with covered basket. |(»iiN 
. ichistlcs "Vaitkee Doodle." 

f Sally (tvalkituj stiffly). I low dare you whistle ihat? 
T can't help keepinj^ step — 

John. Any more than i can when yon i)lay Dixie. 

Sally. I'd like to see you keej) step to anythinj.^ now 
w ith that j^^ame knee. 

JOHN. A rehel hnllet wounded it. 

.^ALLY. Well, then, 1 reckon all we ean do is to save that 
liariicular knee and hang the rest of you. {Stands to 
John's left.) 

John {curiously /^eerijii^ in basket). What's this? 

Sally. Something to eat, of course. Why, John Meri- 
vale Morton, the very sight of you suggests eating, {llancjs 
bonnet on chair.) 

JoHxX. The deuce it docs. Does it suggest nothing else? 

Sally. Course not. The memory of John Merivale 
.Morton's ravenous, a]i])ctitc will linger with us long after 
he is forgotten. 

John. That's not nice. What is it today? {Lifts edge 
of napkin.) 

Sally. Custard. (Pulls bench at L. 2 /:. close to John's 
chair.) 

John. You're awfully good to me, Sally Amu 

Sally (in a matter-of-fact tone). Just as I'd be to any 
other soldier that came my way. 

John. Fa'cu if he were a Yank? 

Sall^'. (){ course. It's such a splendid chance to learn 
to love my enemy. 

John. Am I your enemy? {Takes her hands.) 

Sally. John Merivale Morton, I'm talking biblically. 
Hands off, or you won't get this custard. (John drops 
her hands.) Now, isn't that just like a man? He'd let go 
anything if it interfered with his eating. 

John. Did you want me to hold on? 

Sally Certainlv not. I lold olT is a better motto for vou, 



7B, THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

"John Merivale Morton. {Takes cup of custard from 
basket.) 

John (softly). I wish I could tell you just how you 
look today. 

Sally. Don't try. My mirror told me much better than 
you can. {Gives him a spoonful of custard.) How do you 
like it? 

John {rapturously) . Heavenly ambrosia from the hands 
of a heavenly being. 

Sally. Don't get sentimental. There are mighty few 
people who can indulge without being silly. {Holds cup 
away from him.) 

John {in alarm). Aren't you going to give me any more? 

Sally. Not until I discipline you a little. For every 
question satisfactorily answered, you receive as a reward 
a spoonful of the Fairfax unparalleled custard. 

John {in resigned tone). Hurry up, then. {Sighs.) 

Sally. First, doesn't the state of Virginia beat your 
old North all hollow? {Waves spoon.) 

John. In respect to blue skies, bright sunshine and 
adorable women she's unexcelled. 

Sally {frozvning). You evaded my question, but what 
you said was pretty ; so I reckon Fll let you have this. 
{Gives him spoonful.) 

John. Is that all? 

Sally. All! What kind of a teacher do you think I am? 

John {leaning forivard). Shall I tell you? 

Sally {hurriedly) . Next! Aren't the southern men the 
bravest soldiers in the world? 

John. They are indeed worthy foes to face. 

Sally. You're not playing fair, John Merivale Morton. 
You don't say right out what I want you to say. But I'll 
let it go this time. {Feeds him.) 

John. Sally Ann Fairfax, did you make this custard? 

Sally. Do you think I'd let anybody else make it — 
{hesitates) for you? 

John {eagerly). Sweetheart! 

Sally (quickly). Next! Haven't you been outclassed in 
many a battle? 



TIIl<: TIIRI" \D OF DIiSTIXV. 79 

JniiN (a)i(/rily). Well. I j^uicss not. W'c — 
Sally {intcrruf^tnuj ). And liavon'l you won your vic- 
tories by superior numbers and all kinds of uiulerband 
tricks? 

John. Look bere. Sally Aim. I won't take tbat, even 
from you. W'liat can you say of Antietani, Sbiloii, Mcni- 
pbis — 

S.\LLV. Or Hull I\un or Fredericksburg — 

John. Or (ietty>l)ur«^^ wiili its i^lorious victory for tbe 
stars and stripes! 

S.XLLv. Jobn Merivale Morton, I bate you — I bate you! 
{Turns her back and nioi'cs to end of bench.) 

JoH.x {after a fe:c nionients' silence). Sally .\nn, in 
your manual of military tactics is tbere no sucb tbing as a 
flai^ of truce ? ( S.\LL^ .\n \ shahes her head. John, sadly. ) 
Can't you boist one just lonj^ enoui^b for me to finisb tbis 
custard? (S.vlly .\n.\ hides her face but lifts her hand- 
kerchief.) Heavens! I didn't tbink you'd give in — bonest, 
I didn't, or I never would bave asked. {Starts to get up.) 
Hang tbis knee. I can't go to you. but you've got to tell 
me wbat's tbe matter. 

Sally (puttiny head on back of bencJi). Ob. Jobn Meri- 
vale Morton, I'm so tired of figbting! 

John. Tired of figbting! W'bo isn't? .-\nd I'm tired of 
fooling, too, Sally Ann. W'by, tbe tiling in tbe world I 
want most is you. Vou know it : you wear mv pin ; and 
yet- 

Sallv {liftincj her head), ^'et wbat ? 

John. You keep me guessing. 

Sally. Tben guess away and I'll tell you if you guess 
right. (Turns half ti-ay round.) 

John (eagerly). Do you mean it? (Sally Ann nods.) 
Come bere, Sally Ann Fairfax, you've got to come event- 
ually, so you migbt as well do it now. (Sally .Ann nio7'es 
sloii'ly toward hint.) Dear little Dixie, wby do we worry 
over a Nortb and a Soutb so long as we are together? 1 love 
vour land. I love your people, most of all 1 love you, and 



80 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

the flag is big enough to float over both of us. (Puts arms 
about her.) 

Sally (dropping head on his shoulder). Oh, John 
Merivale Morton, you may whistle Yankee Doodle all you 
want to — 

John (softly). But I don't want to, for the most beau- 
tiful tune in all the world is Dixie ! 

Enter Uncle Billy, L. 2 E. He coughs several times 
unheard and unseen by John and Sally Ann.) 

Billy. Law, Marse Jack (Sally Ann jumps azvay 
from John), you all say yo' fightin' fo' de Yanks? Mebbe 
you am, but you am under de command of a gineral what 
wins mo' battles eben dan Marse Lee an' Marse Grant. 
Dis gineral ain't got no weapons but an arrow ; he don' 
fly no flag, but he sho' do slay his ten thousands. An' jis 
as sho' as ole Billy sees you chillen jinin' ban's an' fer- 
gittin' which am Reb an' which am Yank, jes so sho'ly am 
he gwine to look at a Ian' whar dar ain't no norf, no souf, 
whar dar ain't no fightin', no brudder agin brudder, an' 
dat day he gwine shout "hallerlujah !" 

John (reaching for Sally Ann^s hand). The war is 
over, Uncle Billy. We've signed the treaty; we've broken 
ranks. 

Sally (rising). And we'll all march forward while the 
band plays — (pauses and whistles ''Yankee Doodle.'' To 
this tune Uncle Billy wheels John out R. U. E., pre- 
ceded by Sally Ann.) 

Enter Peyton and George Washington, R. U. E. 

George (follozving Peyton to L. 2 E.). It sho' am 
lonesome at de big place, Marse Peyton. Ain't yo' ebah 
comin' back? 

Peyton. When the war is over, George Washington. 
Oh, we're planning to do many things when the war is 
over. (Seats himself on bench at L. 2 E.). v 

George. Am Mis' Jinny comin' back wid yo'? 

Peyton. No, George Washington — no. 

George. Marse Peyton, it ain't none of my business, 
but am yo' gwine to let dat po' white trash carry her oflf? 



TIN-: 'riiki-:.\i) oi- 1)I-^tivv mi 

Pkvton. George \\'aslnniii,M,. -...iiuuiin-. \m- ^..im- upon 
conditions which we do not undcr'^tand. 

CiEOKGE. Yo' reckon a i^mnl horse whii)i)in' would help r 

TicvTON. 'Ihere, now; don'l icnipt nic ; and if >()U wish 
to do me a histinj? service hefore I'm nff aj^aiii, tind Miss 
Virginia and ask lier to come liere to me. 

Ch-okgic. Marsc Pt7ton, I— {hesitates). 

1'evton. Yes? 

(iKURGE (hesitatiiKjly). Marse Peyton, I — 

Peyton. Wliat's the matter, George Washington? 

George {sheef>isltl\'). Marse i'eyton — I gwine git — 
married. 

Peyton. ( )1i. that's what's trouhhng yon. So the fair 
Fanny has given in after all these years of devotion? 

George. No, she ain't. That's the onliest thing in de 
way. 

Peyton. Can't she be — i)crsuaded? 

(lEoRGE. Fanny sho' am upstarty, Marse Peyton; an' yo' 
goin' in de ^^ank ahmy nigh on to mined my chances. 

Peyton. Then we're in the same l).)at. old fellow. Hurry 
on, now, and I shall stay around here until I go — for — 
(to liiniscif) in some way I feel I may he needed. 

Gi:()RGE. Den de luck charms a-workin'. Marse Peyton : 
ii sho' am. (Hurries to L. V. R. and turns.) Fo' de Lawd 
I hope it done work on Fanny! (R.vit L. U. E.) 

Enter \'irgini.\, L. U. E. 

Virginia. Peyton, T just met George Washington and 
he sent me here. Don't make it so hard for me, dear. 
(Pe^'ton 'rises.) 

Peyton. Virginia, a man doesn't give up his happiness 
without a struggle. I caimot go hack to — uncertainty — 
v.'ithout a la.st plea. Tell me what it is that brings this man 
into your life. (Leads her to heneh L. 2 E.) 

\'iRc;iNi.\. Oh, Peyton. T can say only what I've said to 
you so many times. 1 cannot tell you why — I cannot tell 
you. (Sits. Peyton stands by her.) 

Peyton. You will marry him when your love is given 
to mc? 



^rafe 



82 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Virginia. I will marry him — I have promised. 

Peyton. I can do nothing? 

Virginia. Oh, if you ask* me a thousand times, I must 
still say, you can do nothing. 

Peyton. It sounds like a story of medieval times. What 
threat can this man hold over you ? What mystery can there 
be that Beverly and I may not share? 

Virginia. Beverly does not know. At the time of fath- 
er's death I couldn't tell him. I couldn't add to his burden. 

Peyton. And you send me away without hope? 

Virginia. There is no hope. (Hides her face in her 
hands.) 

Peyton. What kind of a man would I be if I allowed 
that to be the last word between us ? Do you think that my 
love is so frail a thing that I cease to fight for it, even if 
I fight blindly against an unseen adversary? (He goes 
slowly out tozvard R. U. £., then pauses.) If you need me, 
Virginia — ever — I'll come to yoil. Will you remember? 
(Virginia nods. Exit R. U. E.) 

Enter Madge, R. 2 E. 

Madge (rushing to Virginia). I have no time for expla- 
nation ; I cannot stop to parley. You must promise to do 
something for me — and you must do it. 

Virginia (wearily). I promise. There are so few things 
now, Madge, that I can do for anybody. 

Madge (kneeling by her). Then tell me zvhy you are 
marrying Ralph Francis. 

Virginia. Not that, Madge — anything but that. (Raises 
her hands in protest.) 

Madge. You must! You must, I say! For I have every 
chance to thwart this man. I have every hope of bringing 
him to justice. Now will you tell me? 

Virginia (eagerly). You mean — 

Madge. That rriy knowledge of certain things may give 
me a hold on him that I may use to your advantage. You 
trust me, Virginia? 

Virginia. Oh, yes — yes! 



TlIK Tllki:Al) OF DESTINY. 83 

Madgk {scicinpi her liauds). Then icll inc. I want to 
liclp you, and to do thai I must know — 

\'iR('.iMv\. Tficn listen. IVyton captured l'»everly — at 
our home — the ni«,du of father's dealli. lie allowed him to 
escape. Mr. I^rancis watched and threatened. In save 
I'eyton I promised to marry him. 

M.\i)(ii: {risin(f). That sacrifice will not be necessary. 
I feel that I will succeed. Why, I nmst succeed — I must. 
Thank you for tellin*:^ me, dear. (Kisses her.) Trust me, 
and pray that 1 may have my way. {Exit R. U. E.) 

Enter F.WNv. L. 2 E. Conies to \'irgini.\'s side. 

F.\NNV. Mis' jinny, wliat nou i^^wine to do wid dat blue 
dress ob yourn wid de rufdes and de frillies ob lace? 

\'iRGiNi.\. Why, nothing', Fanny. Would you like to 
have it ? 

F.\NNV {(jlgijling). Now how you guess dat, Mis' Jinny? 
(Mazes to front of stage at C.) 

Virginia. Just by mind reading. 

Fanny. Dar wuz a hat — 

Virginia. You shall have that, too, if you'll tell me 
why you're planning all this elegance. 

Fanny. Well — Miss Jinny. I reckon I gwine git married. 

Virginia. Really. Fanny? How lovely. Is it George 
W^ashington ? 

Fanny, ^'as'm. (lawge Washin'ton 'bout ez good a 
nigger ez dey is. 

X'iKGiNiA. N'ou haven't been very nice to him, Fanny. 

Fanny ( /// f^reteuded innocenee). Law, Mis' Jinny. 
What I done? 

\'iRGiNiA. Why you quarrel with him continually. 

Fanny (shaking finger). Dar now, Mis Jinny, you doan' 
know niggers, ^'ou reckon (jawge Washin'ton keep tag- 
gin' attcr me ef I smile all de time an' let he know I like 
him? Not much. 

\'irginia (smiling). Why wouldn't he? 

Fanny. Kase no man want what he git too easy — dat's 
why. An* de longer you keep he guessin' de harder he 
co'te yo*. 



^fe 



84 TITE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Virginia. Well, run on now, and get the dress and 
we'll give you the prettiest wedding we can. (Fanny 
starts toward L. U. E., tlieif turns.) 

Fanny. Wid watermelon? 

Virginia. Of course. (Fanny starts again to L. U. E., 
then pauses.) 

Fanny. An' a frosty cake? 

Virginia. Surely. {Turns her head and smiles at 
Fanny.) 

Fanny. Lavv^, Mis' Jinny, my mouf done begin to water 
already. {Moves slowly azvay.) Mis' Jinny? 

Virginia.. Yes? (Fanny turns at E. U. E.) 

Fanny. I forgot to say dat he ain't axed me yet. {Exit 
L. U. E.) 

Enter Mrs. Montgomery^ L. U. E.; stands looking 
after Fanny. 

Mrs. M. What is exciting Fanny so much? 

Virginia. The prospect of some cast off finery — and 
the zest of the ever stormy courtship of George Washing- 
ton. (Mrs. Montgomery comes to E. 2 E. and stands 
back of Virginia.) 

Mrs. M. Let us hope the courtship will end happily. 

Virginia. It will. Oh, mother, even Fanny can have 
her lover, and I — {hides her face on Mrs. Montgom- 
ery's arm.) 

Mrs. M. Don't dear; for though you will not tell me 
of this strange fancy of yours, or what power this man 
holds over you, I cannot believe that such a marriage will 
ever come to pass. {Strokes her hair.) 

Virginia. Did you tell Beverly? {Raises her head.) 

Mrs. M. Yes, dear. 

Virginia. And he — 

Mrs. M. Was unspeakably angry. You could not expect 
anything else, for Beverly had other dreams for his sister. 

Virginia {bitterly). Who knows better than I? 

Mrs. M. Virginia, your father would never have sanc- 
tioned this marriage, would never have allowed it, no 
matter what argument had been brought to bear. That is 



IIII-: TUKKAU Ul UKSTIX". 85 

why 1 believe that, even now, you will he .savetl from the 
sacrifice. His living presence is denied us. dear, i)Ul his 
sjjirii is with us always; and his tender care will never 
allow you lo he led from your heart's happiness. ( )n that 
last aftern(jon, as we watched the sunset toj^ether, he said, 
"it may he the last — who knows, who fears? For love is 
stroncjer than death." It is stronger than death, Virginia; 
it will have its way; it will )el crown your life with glad- 
ness and song. (\'ir(;im.\ is silcnl. Mrs. MoNTr.oMKkV 
T.'(//A\v /() /.. (/. /:. (];/(/ looks off R. U. E.) I sec Beverly 
and l^dith approaching. Dear hoy, how good it is to have 
him home again. Will vou come, dear? (Starts toward 
R. U. E.) 

Virginia (risitig). Another way, mother. I can't cpiite 
hear to see their hapi)iness. (She joins Mrs. Montgo.mery 
at L. U. E. Exeunt.) 

Enter P)i:vEKLV and Kdith, R. U. E. 

Edith (at S7*.'ing). Virginia skies are blue in honor of 
your home coming, Beverly. Virginia hearts arc very 
happy — 

Beverly. And you, I'jlith? 

Edith. I am very proud, Beverly. (Sits in swine/.) 

Beverly. Once upon a time. Edith — it seems years ?go 
— I told you that I was going to play at war ; that after one 
possible engagement we'd be dictating peace to the Yanks. 
And now — (stands back of s^^'ing). 

Edith. One cannot always foresee, dear. 

Beverly. You could. ^VJU told me — 

Edith. But I had the vision of the North that was not 
vouchsafed you southern men. 

Beverly. And now, crushed, surrounded. tlireatene<l, 
we are nearing the end. 

Edith. Whatever happens. Beverly, will be the best. 

Beverly. I try to think so ; but when I look at our rag- 
ed, starving troops, at the destruction of our land, it is 
very hard — not to be bitter. 

Edith. Don't think of the bitter things. Look rather at 
the days that are to be. (Looks up at liini.) 



86 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Beverly. And what have I to offer you, Edith? Noth- 
ing but myself. , 

Edith {rising). Yourself? That is everything, Beverly. 
Three years ago, as we stood in the garden, I asked you 
to wear my colors — the red, the white and the blue. You 
refused. Now I am asking you to go with me to that very 
spot, for today .these colors shall be lowered before you; 
today the North gladly, humbly, and with a happiness you 
cannot understand, surrenders to the South — to you, Bev- 
erly. Will you come? (Holds out hands. Beverly takes 
them. Exeunt R. 2 E.) 

Enter Fanny, L. 2 E., arrayed in the new gozvn, fol- 
lozved by George Washington. 

George. Fo' de Lawd, Fanny, yo' look jis' lak a bride. 

Fanny (strutting fo R. 2 E.). Can't a lady change her 
clothes widout it bein' insinuated dat she wanter marry? 

George. I didn't say yo' wanter marry. Lawd knows, 
yo' doan' ack it. I say yo' look lak a bride. (Eollows her.) 

Fanny. Yo' think so, Gawge Washin'ton? 

George. Lawd, Fanny, am yo' sick? (Drazus azvay.) 

Fanny (sharply). Sick? AVhat make yo' say dat? 

George. Yo' is — so — pleasant like. 

Fanny (shrugging lier jhoulders). Hmnph ! 

George. Who am de nigger? 

Fanny. Niggers ain't so plentiful on dis hyah planta- 
tion dat yo' need to ax dat. 

George (hesitatingly). Yo' wouldn't lib on any udder 
plantation, would yo'? 

Fanny, It depend — upon de nigger what axed me. 

George {cautiously) . Does yo' like de Bailey place? 

Fanny. It sho' am a mighty fine plantation. 

George. Law, Fanny, it ain't lak yo' to own up to dat. 

Fanny. Gwan vv^id wliat yo' wuz axin' me, Gawge 
Washin'ton. Doan' poke so. 

George. It sho' am a mighty fine place. 

Fanny (impatiently) . So yo' say befo'. Hurry up an' 
git to de pint? 

George. What p'int? 



THl- TUKKAl) ui- UI-.m i .\ -> . 87 

Fanny. Gawj^'c Washin'ton. cf yo' ain't <lc slu[)iclcst nip- 
per 1 cbcr seed. Now look liyar— ef yo' (loan* wan' nic to 
marry yo,' yo' say so, an' I j,'o take off (lis liyah dress; ef 
yo' do, we go right olT to de preacher — 

CiEDRc.E. F'anny, yo' ain't foolin' wid nie? {Crosses 
back of Fanny to her right.) 

Fanny {sharf^ly). Foolin' wid yo'? I^iwd knows I is 
tired foolin' wid yo'. Dal de reason I is trying to settle 
de matter. 

Gmorc.e. Law. Fanny, yo' knows I is wanted yo' all de 
time. I jis' 'fraid to ax yo'. (Cowes ticarcr.) 

Fanny. Well, I'se done been axed now. 

Gk()H<ii:. An' ef yo' marry me 1 sho' will take de road 
to dc Ian' o' haj^piness. (Sidles up and puts arm about her.) 

Fanny. Better take dc road to de preacher's fust. Right 
about, face, (iawge Washin'ton. (He obeys.) Not kaze 
yo' de head ob de house, but kase 1 doan wan' yo' steppin' 
all ober dis hyah dress. 

Geokce (looking over shoulder). To de rear, Fanny 
Montgome'y. to de rear! {Exeunt George Washington 
and Fanny, R. 2 E.) 

Enter Louise and Ralph, 7^. U. E. 

Louise (coming do7i'n C). Whatever business we have 
must be quickly dispatched. It is not safe here, and I am 
leaving immediately. Did you bring what I asked you? 
(Ralph joUoik's, standing at her right.) 

Ralph {taking papers from pocket). Here arc the sta- 
tistics you wished itemized. They arc (juite correct. 
(Louise scans them carefully.) 

Louise. And the plans? 

Ralph (giving her sealed packet). .\re here — sealed. 
You may rely upon their accuracy. 

Enter Beverly, R. 2 E. 

Beverly (angrily). What right have you on this place, 
Ralph Francis? I'll allow you two minutes to get ofT. 

Ralph (drawing hack). What right have 1? The right 
your sister has given me — the right that the future owner 
of the plantation mav assume. 



88 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

Beverly (threateningly). Don't you mention my sister. 
Tlie Montgomerys have not yet come to the place where 
their name can be bandied af)OUt by such as you. Virginia 
Montgomery marry you? Why, I'd rather see her in her 
grave. I don't know how you've forced this promise from 
her, but I do know this, that I ask no questions, I brook 
no interference, and I forbid you, absolutely, ever to look 
upon her again. 

Ralph. Not so fast, you fire-eating Southerner. Have 
you taken into consideration that Virginia may prefer to 
keep her promise? 

Beverly. You mention my sister again and I shoot. 

Enter Virginia, L. U. E., and rushes between them. 

Virginia {holding his arm). Beverly! Beverly! Don't. 
You don't understand and I cannot explain. 

Beverly. You don't need to explain. {Draws her to 
him.) 

Virginia. But you need to listen. I am a Virginia 
woman. A Virginia woman keeps her promise, and she 
has the right of choice. Beverly, I have chosen to marry 
Mr. Francis. My choice is above your authority. Put down 
your weapon. 

Enter Madge, R. U. E. 

Madge (coming to bench at L. 2 E.). May I say a few 
words? Perhaps I may help to untangle the difficulty. (To 
Louise.) You first, Miss Lawton, and if you are as wise 
as I think you are," you will not prolong your stay in our 
midst. You are clever — I grant it — but you lingered too 
long. The story you so glibly told would have carried you 
through, perhaps, but one cannot be seen often with the 
only man who did not go off to war, without a natural sus- 
picion. (To Beverly.) Beverly, this is the spy who has 
given the North the information, the source of which we 
could not discover. It is she who, by her intercourse with 
your own family, learned of your movements, and caused 
your house to be shadowed on a certain night not long ago. 

Virginia. Madge ! 

Louise (tossing her head). Your story is interesting, 



TIIR THREAD Ol- DESTINY. 89 

Miss Young:. It possesses dramatic features. Suppose I 
q^rant tlierc has been in formal ioii given tlie North by one 
wiio evidently understands tlie Virginia situation; but suj)- 
pose 1 substitute for my name that of the nortliern girl 
who has been in a position to know — everything, {lunnnij 
to Virginia.) \ our cousin luhth, Mi.ss Montgomery. 
(Bevkrly mores foncard thrcatcnitiyly.) 

M.MK'.E (nwtiofiing to Bkvekly). \\'ait, Beverly; she is 
only tigiiting for time. The very package she holds proves 
her guilt. Ralph Francis, -when you took possession of our 
home and forced us out. you insi)ire(l me with the determi- 
nation to bring you to justice, ^'our frequent conversations 
with Miss Lawton, the suspicious papers over which you 
continually toiled — 

RALrii. How dare you make such a statement? {Crossrs 
back of Louise to Maoge.) 

Madge. Because I know ; because I did what I should 
never have done under different conditions — Watched your 
movements, read your [iapers. Oh, I'm justified in it all. 
I have no guilty conscience. (7'o Louise.) I do not know 
when you asked him for the desired information, Miss Law- 
ton, but I do know he anticipated your request. If you open 
the package you hold you will Inid only blank i)apers. 
(Louise opens package.) The original is in my possession. 
{To Beverly.) It's a plan of the fortifications and the 
works at Petersburg, Beverly. The man has sold his knowl- 
edge of the Confederate situation in Virginia. (Ralph 
makes gesture of protest.) Why, there is no use in denial. 
I have the proofs. {To Louise.) Miss Lawton, even you 
will see the futility of your ])rcsence here. You may go. 
(Louise hesitates, then hastily departs R. U. E.) \\'hat 
I have to say now is for the three of you. Beverly, the 
threat this man held over X'irginia is this. He .saw you 
tliat night : he knew that Peyton had forfeited his military 
duty and had allowed you to escape. X'irginia was forced 
to choose between Peyton's disgrace and a marriage with 
Mr. I'Vancis. Naturally she was true to her lover. 

Beverly (tenderly). Little sis — 

Madge. Beverly, you have been witness to all this; you 



thI: 



90 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 

know that this man at our word is in danger of his life. 
Since no harm has been done to our cause, you will agree 
with me, I am sure, when I* say we shall allow him swift 
and speedy departure from the state, on his promise to for- 
get what happened that night. 

Beverly. Will you promise, Francis? 

Ralph {after a moment). I promise. What else is left 
me ? Oh, you think you've tricked me ; but my time has not 
yet come. {Sneeringly.) I wish you all joy of your plun- 
dered and devastated fields, of the enemy of poverty that 
you must henceforth fight, of the terror of the reconstruc- 
tion period that is soon to follow. {Exit R. U. E.) 

Madge. Beverly, Peyton is here. Will you find him and 
explain? {Exit Beverly, R.2 E.) 

Virginia. Madge, I cannot tell you — I cannot thank you. 
{Puts arms about her.) 

Madge. Don't try, dear, for it's a happy day to me. Oh, 
Virginia, our cause may be a lost one — the victory may not 
be for us — but today, here in our own little circle, the stars 
and bars are floating high! {Exit R. U. E. Virginia goes 
slozvly to swing.) 

Enter Peyton, hastily, R. 2 E. 

Peyton. Oh, sweetheart, sweetheart — that you should 
have done it for me ! Don't you know that I could have en- 
dured anything rather than the loss of you? {Takes her in 
his arms.) 

Virginia. Not the sacrifice of honor, Peyton. That 
means too much to you and to me. See, dear, it is another 
rose I have to give you. {Takes rose from her hair.) The 
one of long ago means too much sadness, too much bitter- 
ness, and too much heartache. This is a perfect blossom, 
for it breathes of joy and of the happiness of the beautiful 
days that are waiting for us. Go forth to war, my soldier, 
for I know that destiny will bring you back to me. {Rises 
and they zvalk to L. 2 E. She turns and places rose in his 
coat.) 

Peyton. Destiny — the thread of destiny! Only two hues 
do we see, dear, the blue and the gray; but we cannot tell 



THE TIIRRAD OF DESTINY. 91 

where tlic one begins and the other ends; they twine and 
intertwine, tliey merge into the glory of a coninion tint. 
( ^li. \ irgniia. X'irginia! Let us he tliankful that against this 
i)aekgroun(l of hopes, of fears and of future union we have 
l)een able to trace— the golden thread of destiny! (£m- 
b races her.) 

Curtain. 



At the End of the Rainbow 

By LINDSEY BARBEE. 

Price,* 25 Cents 

College comedy, 3 acts; 6 males, 14 females. Time, 21^ hours. 
Scenes: Easy to set. 3 interiors. Characters: Robert Preston a 
lawyer. Douglas Brown, a football player. Dick Preston, the 
groom. Stanley Palmer, "Hawkins, the butler." Ted Whitney, 
captain of the Varsity team. Jack Austin, Preston's secretary' 
Marion Dayton, a ward of Preston. Nellie Preston, a bride. Louise 
Ross, known as Miss Grayson. Phyllis Lane, a football enthu- 
siast. Kathleen Knox, chairman of the rushing committee. The 
Imp, a freshman. Emily Elliott, with a conscience. Jane, a 
maid with a taste for literature. Mrs. Brown, step-mother of 
Douglas Brown. Polly Price, Elsa Ernest, Marjorie Arnold, Marie 
Swift, Molly Bruce, of the Theta Phi. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act L — Ted's plea to Phyllis to help the college. The prom- 
ise. Nell comes to the rescue of Theta Phi. Mollie becomes a 
maid. Dick employs a butler. The agreement. "Douglas Brown 
will play!" 

Act II. — Maid and butler discuss affairs. The old storv, "Hearts 
and Masks." The plot to steal the papers. The combination of 
the safe. The "Imp" makes a startling discovery. Marion's sac- 
rifice. 

Act III. — The football game. Louise betrays Phyllis. "I have 
lost him forever." The victory and jubilation. The "Imp" is in- 
dignant. "My wings haven't sprouted yet." Robert and Marion 
find "the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow." 

Every youth 

By HARRY L. NEWTON. 

Price, 25 Cents 

A moral fantasy in 3 scenes; 7 males, 6 females. Time, lJ/$ 
hours. Scene: 1 simple interior. Characters: Everyyouth, Work, 
Vice, Pleasure, Care, Truth, Reason, Temptation. Conceit, Van- 
ity, Happiness, Trouble and Love. Plot: Everyyouth, a clerk in 
Somebody's office, quarrels with Work, the old bookkeeper, because 
he objects to his pal, Pleasure, with whom he attends the ball 
game during business hours. On account of this unpleasantness, 
Happiness, the faithful stenographer, leaves and the bewitching 
maidens. Temptation, Conceit and Vanity take her place, but they 
do not accomplish as much as she did alone. They become close 
friends of Everyyouth and he meets Vice and Care, easygoing 
chaps, who introduce him to Trouble. In the end Love, the maiden 
eternal, appears, wins him from evil ways and back to his real 
friends. Work, Reason, Truth and Happiness. Patterned after the 
old morality play, "Everyman," in a setting of today. Highly in- 
teresting story with a moral, yet with enough comedy to appeal to 
any kind of an audience. 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY. Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



Aaron Boj|{|s, Freshman 

By WALTER DEN HARE. 

Price, 25 Cents 

CoUope comedy In 3 acts; 8 nmlos. s f.»maloii. Time. 2U Ijours. 
Scenes: 1 exterior. 1 interior. Character!: Aaron fr«»rn SpMnt«T- 
V llle. Happy Jininilc Janileson, a Husci-ptible Jtir • - " '".ir- 

ter, a proniinnit senior. IN-ppt-r .Ifrvls. stmivlnK • im 

P. BoKK.s. a pillar of SplintervUlc. Mr. Cliiil.l). i ,.y 

Jones, a folle^»« politirlan. SiMoiitl-ltanil Alu-y. \\i,.. .;...- m- m mikIh 
troovl. Lizzit' Fet-ny. a waitrt'ss J>iit a perfect lady. Mrs. «*luil>h. a 
hoardinp-ljouse keeper. Mrs. I'irltens. likiwlse. Kvrlvn. Ix>l8, 
Cherry and Lorelta, college girls. Dollle, a vaudeville quuen. 

SYNOPSIS. 
Aet I. — In college years, when life's at spring. 
Tiie old love seems a little thing. 
And heads are turned hy the college whirl. 
And the Freshman seeks a colh-ge girl. 
The new football star, captured in tlie railroad shops. "He's 
going to take plain sewing and cross-stitch." Paw l>rings Aaron 
to collegt'. "Aaron made the llnest graduating address ever heard 
on the SplintervilK' platform." Aaron is hazed and Lizzie Maud 
meets an old beau. 

Act II. — OlY with the (»ld love, on with the new. 
But often the newer love won't do. 
The sweetest rose is the ohi rose pressed 
And I som»'times think that the old love's best. 
Aaron president of the Fi-eshman class. "Slaving for eleven 
students and everyone a hyena in a Norfolk jacket." "I have oat- 
meal to burn and sometimes I do." The telegram. "Grandson of 
Stephen .1. Boggs, the multi-millionaire. * Why did I ever send 
that telegram? It's all over." 

Act III. — For a college life is a thing apart. 

And a college love is a whim o' the heart. 
And the heart beats true, though the world seems slow, 
When you love the girl, you used to know. 
"I thought you wanted nie for myself, not for my grandfather." 
"I resign right now." Chubb brings home a load but forgets the 
wood. "Me working like a slave and him down town making a 
human faucet out of hisself." "She said she'ti take me on one 
condition — that was easy. I entered with six." It's taken quite 
awhile to learn where I belong here at college, but I've found my- 
self — and I've found you." 

The Fascinators 

By WALTER BEN HARE. 

Price, 25 Cents 

Comic entertainment in ono act: ^?, females. Time. 40 minutes. 
A thorough school, open to girls between sixteen and fifty, which 
gives scientitic training in the fascinating game of catching a hus- 
band. Introduces specialties and a number of songs. "Stately 
Lilies." "Cooking Song." etc.. which are sung to familiar college 
airs. It ends with a verv clever and amusing "Flirtation" song 
and drill. Particularly suitable for women's clubs and societies. 

T. S. DENISON & COxMPANY. Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



The Dream that Game True 

By LINDSEY BAR.BEE. 

Price, 25 Cents 

Comedy drama in 3 acts; 6 males, 13 females. Time. 214 hours. 
Scenes: 3 interiors. Characters: Gordon Clay, foreman of the 
works. Charles Norton, the wealthy owner. Jack Brown, a cub 
reporter. Bobbie Byrnes, averse to college women. Billy Best, cap- 
tain of the 'varsity team. Lord Algernon, straight from England. 
Nan Worthington, one of the people. Margaret, loyal and true. 
Mrs. Jenkins, a boarding housekeeper. Angelina, her small daugh- 
ter. Louisa, one of the boarders. Florabel, a poetess. Mehitabel 
Biddle, a suffragette. Emmy Lou, fond of fairy tales. Mrs. Al- 
laire, the chaperone. Delphine, a college graduate. Peggy, a 
Browning fiend. Doris, an athletic girl. Nora, a maid. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act I. — The impending strike. "It ain't so much the man that 
makes woman foolish, it's the lack of him." "Being a lady Miss 
Margaret is being just like you. "If ever the time comes when 
you need me, I shall stand the test." 

Act II. — "The strike's on." Gordon tells of his love for an- 
other. Norton refuses to make terms. Gordon plays his last trump. 
Margaret bids Nan prove that love is sacrifice. "I am to struggle 
on — alone." 

Act III. — "It's good-bye Gordon." "You're a dear, sweet little 
English Lord but I want to be under the stars and stripes." Nan 
has her revenge. "The factory girl can be generous." The dream 
comes true. 

Under Blue Skies 

By KATHARINE KAVANAUGH. 

Price, 25 Cents 

Comedy drama in 4 acts; 7 males, 10 females. Time, 2 hours. 
Scenes: 2 exteriors, 2 interiors. Characters: Bruce McCulloch, 
the man. Dick Warren, Edith's brother. David Joyce, Clare's 
father. Oscar Weber, a village swain. Old John, the gardner. 
Williams, a valet. Sleepy Heine. Clare, the girl. Edith, an heir- 
ess. Sara, the old housekeeper. Mrs. Weber, a troublemaker. 
Little Elsie and five neighboring women who have only a few lines. 
SYNOPSIS. 

Act I. — Mrs. Weber insists on the marriage between Oscar 
and Clare. "This has got to be settled one way or the other." 
Clare meets Miss Warren. Oscar finds the letter. "Clare Joyce 
is my affianced wife." "If you come near me I'll kill you!" 

Act II. — Scene I: Old John and the flowers. Miss Warren finds 
Clare and Bruce together. Jealousy. The blow. "I'll make you 
sorry for this!" Scene II: Going to chapel. The love letter. Miss 
Warren and Oscar come to an agreement. "You'll never be able to 
hold up your head again." Humiliation. 

Act III. — Bruce unhappy. "I was playing with fire and I got 
my fingers burnt." An unexpected visitor. "Our engagement is 
at an end." Bruce proposes. The midnight marriage. 

Act IV. — The next morning. Breakfast. "Clare is not here." 
Mrs. Weber's story. "Your prayers and tears come too late." 
Bruce interrupts. "Clare Joyce is my wife." Happiness. 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



The Old Oaken Bucket 

By MARY MUNCUHE PARKLR. 

Price, 25 Cents 

Rural druina In i nctn; 8 tnulea. 6 femnloB. Tlm^ 2 hours. 
Scene*: 1 exterior, i Interior. Characters: R.ub.n Hanlacre. un 
Iiotu'st ol»l farnur. Tom. Iil.s .son. a clili. n( the ol.l »)!..< k Arthur 
AnK'S. true hhie. Mark llaywarcl. a wolf In ulie.pH el. .think'. Jake, 
a rustic lover. Ezra Ilobh. the po.mrnaxler. C. WhllllkenM. a 
Ti.i>,'hl)or. Kev. Mason, the peacemaker Martha. UeuI.eiiM wife. 
Lizzie, the li^'ht of rn«l.« Heuhen's ev.M. Kmllv. the .sun.Hhlne of 
the househohl. Sapphlra. the vlllaKo Kosnlp. Mr«. Q. WhIIllkens, 
proper, if not charitable. Miry, a country belle. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act r. — 'Reuben, you air bo sot." ".ledRro not." The vlllajfo 
..osslp makes tilings lively. Th.- younp artist r.coKnIze.H a villain 
and al.so makes a ron<|uest at tl>e old well. Marks edu<-ation and 
K*«od looks captivate Lizzie. "Meet me at the old lot? cabin at 
midnlKht." "Oh. rn<le. forgive m«'." 

Act II. — The early rl.sers. "You r«'ad the letter. Tom. 1 *an'(." 
Sapphlra bob.s In. "I shudder to think I mi^lit have been draw.-d 
iway." Reuben has a won! to say to Sai)phiia. "Ain't nobody 
iti to say a word a^in' me or mine witliout Kettin' acciualnted 
\ Ml the way to the front door." Tiue hearts and KinRham skirts. 
i' III Koes to find Lizzie. "Hell answer fcr it with his life." 

.\c-t III. — .lake reads the villaRe paper. "Otila is cjuerr critters." 
Th.- Artist's return. The picture. "The Old Oaken Buck.t." that 
l>r<'iij,'ht fame and mom-y. A stormy ni^ht — and a knock at tho 
dodi-. "It's Lizzie." The wanderer's return. "You ain't been away 
from our hearts a minute." "God bless you for your sweet for- 
giveness." 

Act IV. — Ted's weddlnK day. A surprise party. Snow, slelRh- 
ix'lls and merriment. The country dance. Lizzie's entrance — con- 
st. -rnation. "How's Mr. Hay ward?" The wrath of the sturdy old 
farmer. Rev. Mason Intervenes. Tom asks Lizzie to be his wife, 
.^^apphlra wonders — "The Idea of him takln' her when he could 
k'et me." 



The Rocky Rid^e Vaudeville Show 

By WILLIS N. BUGBEE. 

Price, 25 Cents 

Novelty entertainment. Eiprht complete vaudeville acts. Char- 
acters optional, about 2T> males. S females. Many of the parts may 
be doubled so that It can be easily produced with 20 adults and 3 
children. Time, a full evenlnp. The leading citizen and corner 
grocery store wit of a small rural town visits a larpe city and at- 
tends a vaudeville show. He is enthusiastic over It and on his 
return, with local talent, puts on a similar performance at tho 
town hall, which proves a stupendous success. 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

IM W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



The Goodfellow 

By HARRY L. NEWTON. 

Price, 25 Cents 

Comedy-drama in 3 acts; 8 maies, 4 females. Time, 214 hours. 
Scenes: 2 interiors. Characters: John Dawson, a goodfeUow! 
Stubbie, a young reporter. Old Man Hudson, a mysterious philan- 
thropist. Steve Bacon, a detective. Richard Meadows, a private 
banker. Woodstock, an attorney. Capt. Richards, of police head- 
quarters. Henry Madison, a shiftless husband. Jane, his daugh- 
ter. Mrs. Madison, her invalid mother. Dora Woodruff, young 
and impressible. Martha Peck, old and impregnable. 

Professional stage rights reserved and a royalty of five dollars 
required for amateur performance, 

A GREAT MORAL PLAY WITH A "PUNCH." 
The Police Third Degree Scene, a Striking Novelty for Amateurs. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act I. — Introducing the shiftless father. "Only two knew the 
combination — and folks don't generally rob themselves." The mys- 
terious philanthropist arrives. The stroke of the eyebrow. "He's 
the kind of a man who would learw up against fresh paint, so's to 
get something for nothing." Arrival of the detective. Mr. Steb- 
bins, you're a great little liar." 

Act II. — "I'm going to smile and be brave too." "Fifteen thou- 
sand dollars! He gave that away and I can't afford to smoke 
good cigars." Stubbie remembers the time, the place and the man. 
The sound of the walking stick. Meadows proposes marriage to 
Jane and offers to save John from the prison. "Somebody is just 
going out." Here's your hat! What's your hurry!" 

Act III. — The hundred dollar bill. "Captain, your Third De- 
gree stuff works like magic. I'll sign a confession." Stubbie 
shows that "he knows what he knows." "I knew you were inno- 
cent, John." "I have had my lesson — I was a goodfellow." Sweet- 
hearts united. A disgusted detective. "Cap, I'm goin' out and find 
me a job drivin' a truck. If I find two jobs, I'll save you one." 
"Sometimes you can wink at the law and get away with it. Here's 
where I wink." 

A Burns Rebellion 

By EDITH F. A. U. PAINTON. 

Price, 25 Cents 

Humorous entertainment, introducing characters from Robert 
Burns; 8 males, 5 females. Time, about 1 hour. Scene: 1 simple 
interior. Characters: Tam O'Shanter. Souter Johnny, The Old Cot- 
ter, Jenny's Lover, The Reverend Sage, The Deil, Rab the Ranter 
(Burns' familiar name for himself). Duncan Gray, Jenny, High- 
land Mary, Bonnie Jean. Kate and Maggie. They have met to dis- 
cuss the manner in which Burns has presented them to the world. 
Tam O'Shanter complains that he has acquired fame from bibulous 
indiscretions, rather than from other qualities. Burns arrives and 
has great difficulty in quelling the rebellion of his brain children. 
Quotations from the original poems form most of the dialogue. 
Designed for schools, colleges and Scottish societies. 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



DENISON'S ACTING PLAYS 

Prlc« 18 C«nU Cack. Postpaid, Unii .• Olfff«r«iit PH«« Is Qlvm 



M. r. 

1 ' JS min. 1 1 

I min 4 2 

I 1 3 3 

. JU niin.... 4 

nor, 20 min. . .? i 

*:J^t, 13 min. . 5 
' '.Vo'tograph Gallery, 

6 10 

<hnut Corporation, 

3 5 

il Dispensary, 30 m. 6 
* ' •" *"ase. 30 min. . 12 

1 il, 30 min 4 J 

1 min 1 1 

1 ! Alt, 25 min. 3 2 
1 v'cr, 25 min.. 8 
I vr, 40 min. ..33 

I 20 min... 4 2 

K ts, 20 min.. . 5 1 

.\ 1, 30 min 8 

.N - hip. 15 m. 1 3 

N' -s 30 m. 7 9 

> Jl, 40 m. 4 3 
Mrs. ^^r^lOl)ms I>ook /\gent. 30 

min ... 3 2 

My Lord in Livery, 1 hr.... 4 3 

" " " • Wife, 45 min.. 3 3 

45 min 4 3 

)ns, 1 hr 4 6 

I tiie House, 40 m. 5 

<* imily, 40 min 3 3 

<' lea. 20 min 3 3 

(' 'le Colonel, 25 min. 3 2 

1' itics, 20 min 1 1 

I ng, 35 min 4 3 

I' >tnecary, 35 min.. 6 2 

1' i 'utchman, 30 min. 6 3 

i< .35 min 6 4 

Roug; ' 43 min 4 3 

Second 1, 15 min 2 2 

Smith, • If, 40 min. . . 2 3 

Taking bather's i'lace, 30 min. 5 3 

Taming a Tiger, 30 min 3 

That Rascal Pat, 30 min 3 2 

Those Rea Envelopes, 25 min. 4 4 
Too Much of a Good Thing, 45 

min 3 6 

Treasure from Eg>'pt, 45 min. 4 1 

Turn Him Out, 35 min 3 2 

Two Aunts and a Photo, 20 m. 4 

<, 45 min.... 3 3 
I a Fix, 15 m. 2 

lite, 20 min.. 8 

40 min 2 3 

•ake, 20 min. . 3 2 

'■ pnndent, 45 m. 4 4 

N\ i< ro, 20 min 1 1 

Vi lie Marry? 20 min. 2 8 

^V o? 40 min 3 2 

^^ h for Two, 45 min. S 2 

\\ . 25 min 8 

Yi I . J.Jler, 1 hr 7 3 



VAUDEVILLE SKETCHES. MON- 
OLOQL CS. ETHIOPIAN PLAYS. 

u. r. 

Ax'in* Her Father, 25 min 2 3 

Bnusfir riub of HIackville, 25 m.lO 
' I ood for Two, 20 m. 1 I 

< 1. 15 min 2 I 

< k Courtbhip, 15 min. 1 1 
Cojjunii Champion, 20 min.... 2 
Coontown Thirteen Club, 25 m. 14 

Counterfeit Uills. 20 min I 1 

Doings of a Dude, 20 min.... 2 1 

Dutch Cocktail, 20 min 2 

Five Minutes from Yell Col- 
lege, 15 min 2 

For Reform, 20 min 4 

Fresh Timothy Hay, 20 min.. 2 1 
Glickman, the Glazier, 25 min. 1 1 
Handv Andy (Ne^ro), 12 min. 2 

Her Hero, 20 mm 1 1 

Hey, Rube I 15 min 1 

Home Run, 15 min I 1 

Hot Air. 25 min 2 1 

{umbo Jum, 30 min 4 3 
.ittle Red School House. 20 m. 4 

Love and Lather, 35 min 3 2 

Marriage and After, 10 min.. 1 
Mischievous Nigger, 25 min.. 4 2 

Mistaken Miss, 20 min 1 1 

Mr. and Mrs. Fido, 20 min 1 1 

Mr. Badger's Uppers, 40 min. 4 2 
One Sweetheart for Two. 20 m. 2 
Oshkosh Next Week. 20 min.. 4 

Oyster Stew. 10 min 2 

Pete Yansen's Gurl's Moder, 10 

min 1 

Pickles for Two, 15 min 2 

Pooh Bah of Peacetown, 35 min. 2 2 
Prof. Black's Funnygraph, 15 m. 6 

Recruiting Office. 15 min 2 

Sham Doctor, 10 min 4 2 

Si and I, 15 min 1 

Special Sale, 15 min 2 

.Stage Struck Darky, 10 min.. 2 1 
Sunny Son of Italy, 15 min.. 1 

Time Table, 20 min 1 1 

Tramp and the Actress, 20 min. 1 1 
Troubled bv Ghosts, 10 min... 4 
Troubles of Rozinski, 15 min.. I 
Two Jay Detectives, 15 min.. 3 
Umbrella Mender. 15 min.... 2 
Uncle Bill at the Vaudeville, 

IS min 1 

Uncle Jeflf, 25 min 5 2 

Who Gits de Reward? 30 min. 5 1 



A srsat number of 

Standard and Amataur Plays 

not found haro ara llatad in 

Danlaon'a Cataiog;uo 



T. S. DENISON A COMPANY, Publishers. 1 54 W. Randolph St. , Chicago 



R^TfN 



POPULAR ENTI^TAil 




a-.s.DENiso>r 

t COMPANY 
PIWUSHERS CHICAGO 



TN this . 

1 .series 

are t , 

o u n d 
booksi . . 

■iuchmg 
ev«ry rti.-__ 

in the enter-" 
tainment field. 
Finely made, 
good paper, 
clear print and 
each book has 
an attrac-t-i-T e 
individual cov- 
er design. 

DIALOGUES 

All Sorts of Dialogues. 

Selected, fine for older pupils. 
Catchy Comjc Dialogues. 

Very celver; for young people. 
Children's Comic Dialogues. 

From six to eleven years of age. 
Dialogues for District Schools. 

For country schools. ^ 
Dialogues from Dickens. 

Thirteen selections. 
The Friday Afternoon Dialogues. 

Over 50,000 copies sold. 
From Tots to Teens. 

Dialogues and recitations. 
Humorous Homespun Dialogues. 

For older ones. ^ 
Little People's Plays. 

From 7 to 13 years of age. 
Lively Dialogues. 

For all ages; mostly humorous. 
Merry Little Dialogues. 

Thirty-eight original selections. 
When the Lessons are Over. 

Dialogues, drills, plays. 
Wide Awake Dialogues. 

Brand new, original, successful. 

SPEAKERS, MONOLOGUES 

Choice Pieces for Little People. 

A child's speaker. 
The Comic Entertainer. 

Recitations, monologues, dialogues. 
Dialect Readings. 

Irish, Dutch, Negro, Scotch, etc. 
The Favorite Speaker. 

Choice prose and poetry. 
The Friday Afternoon Speaker. 

For pupils of all ages. 
Humorous Monologues. 

Particularly for ladies. 
Monologues for Young Folks. 

Clever, humorous, original. 
Monologues Grave and Gay. 

Dramatic and humorous. 
The Patriotic Speaker. 

Master thoughts of master minds. 



The 
For. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

Hi 

018 604 680 8 * 

Wit, humor, satireVTunny poems. - 
Scrap- Book Recitations. 
~"^-- Choice collections, pathetic, hu- 

" ^rry.-^PPti^«. p r o s e, 
*^ •' ' <--,r>er No. 25c. 

DRILLS 

The Best Drill Book. 

Very popular drills and marches. 
The Favorite Book of Drills. 

Drills that sparkle with originality. 
Little Plays With Drills. 

For children frorn 6 to 11 years. 
The Surprise Drill Book. 

Fresh, novel, drills and marches. 

SPECIALTIES 

The Boys' Entertainer. 

Monologues, dialogues, drills. 
Children's Party Book. 

Plans, invitations, decorations, 
games. 
The Days We Celebrate. 

Entertainments for all the holidays. 
Good Things for Christmas. 

Recitations, dialogues, drills. 
Good Things for Thanksgiving. 

A gem of a book. 
Little Folks' Budget. 

Easy pieces to speak, songs". 
One Hundred Entertainments. 

New parlor diversions, socials. 
Patriotic Celebrations. 

Great variety of material. 
Pranks and Pastimes. 

Parlor games for children. 
Private Theatricals. 

How to put on plays. 
Shadow Pictures, Pantomimes, 

Charades, and how to prepare. 
Tableaux and Scenic Readings. 

New and novel; for all ages. 
Twinkling Fingers and Sway- 
ing Figures. For little tots. 
Yuietide Entertainments. 

A choice Christmas collection. 

MINSTRELS, JOKES 

Black American Joker. 

Minstrels' and end men's gags. 
A Bundle of Burnt Cork Comedy. 

Monologues, stump speeches, etc. 
Laughland, via the Ha-Ha 

Route. 

A merry trip for fun tourists. 
Negro Minstrels. 

All about the business. 
The New Jolly Jester. 

Funny stories, jokes, gags, etc. 

Large Illustrated CataloKue Free 



T.S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers, 154 W. Randolph St., Chicago 



